Opposing Darkness
by Sylphien
Summary: A man lost in shadows, bound by a dark fate. A woman raised by honour, seeking familial love. When light and darkness collide, what will shadows reveal? Can bitter enemies at war with one another find love? A re-telling of Gwendolyn and Oswald's story.
1. The Shadow Knight

**I do not own Odin Sphere or any of the lovely inhabitants of Erion.**

**I especially do not own this story, it is simply my interpretation of Gwendolyn and Oswald's grand tale. I will use all of the original game script, with extra scenes and re-imaging to describe and flesh out the full journey they took together in the game.**

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With a ghastly smile, Oswald ripped his sword through the tough hide of the fearsome dragon. Black armour rattled a victory chorus as the dark blood of the beast started to seep into the earth of the plateau beneath him. A plateau half hidden amongst the fog of cloud which was ever present at this altitude.

It was only he and the dragon on the cliff top, and soon to be only he alone. Surely the creature could take little more of the Belderiver's power? As if bidden by his thoughts, the jewelled sword in his hand flashed an angry red, and he felt the dark power it invoked tremble throughout his body.

The dragon lying at his feet let out a painful wheeze and its eyelids fluttered, armoured slits turning towards the dark knight, filled with neither hatred nor fear. Hindel was its name, and it knew there was no escaping this death, it had always known that.

"As I thought," said the dragon; scaled lips pulling back over sharp teeth, the mockery of a smile. "Trying to avoid ones fate is like trying to stop the stars."

The young man stood uneasily with his sword drawn, suspecting a trick. His white hair was tousled by the breeze, displaying the undercut of red at its base. He need not draw further on the dark power now; merely wait for the dragon to die.

Hindel laughed ironically, half choking on humour in its pain. "Not even those who see the future can keep from carrying out their fates."

Oswald frowned, lowering the Belderiver slightly. "Why were you holding back? I was open several times."

"Do not worry about me," drawled the dragon, "not at this late stage. Your Belderiver is a weapon without peer." His eyes glazed slightly as he looked up into the heavens. "My time is up. You must use my death to validate the claims of its power."

Oswald looked at the sword in his hand; it pulsed with the same energy which had filled him during their battle. It was a cold, merciless power, which called to him even now. He held it at bay as it sang for the dragon's death, clenching his free hand to maintain his self-control. Despite what he had done, and what he must do, he did feel pity for the creature.

As if reading his thoughts Hindel's teeth flashed in a caustic smile. "Take my head and announce your victory to the commander of the Fairies."

_Melvin._

Oswald did not know how the dragon knew that his father had sent him, but the blame of this death lay elsewhere. "You should be aware that all of this was caused by that country… Ragnanival. But _they_ did not hire me."

He turned from the dragon then, looking down on the kingdom in miniature below them. A country at war; the Aesir would destroy all of Erion if they could not be stopped, but they would destroy the Vanir first and foremost.

This death was justified, it must be; the power of the Belderiver must be proven so that he could fulfil his purpose. When Oswald spoke again, his voice was hushed. "My father specifically asked me to do this." The hand holding the Belderiver trembled ever so slightly to betray the regret of his actions, but his grip on it was strong.

Hindel wheezed again, his eyelids now nothing more than heavy weights obstructing his sight. "He is not your father," the dragon coughed. "Your real father is a man named Edgar."

Oswald snorted; his gaze leaving the façade of a peaceful nation below. The view from this standpoint hid the ravages of warfare which scarred the countryside. Instead, he glanced coldly over his shoulder, into the slitted eyes of the dying dragon.

"That means nothing," he spat, his tone acid. "That is just the name of a man who abandoned a baby." His expression softened slightly for a moment, but the lure of the Belderiver soon hardened it again. "Melvin is my only father. Even though I am a human he has raised me as his own."

The dragon shuddered, its eyes dimming. "Do not forget that... when the time comes."

The young man frowned, irritated at the prophetic pretence. "You talk as if you know everything. Let me cease your tongue's flapping," he hissed. He felt the darkness gather with his anger.

"Shadow master who threatens the darkness..." Hindel's eyes were silver blinded and sightless as he spoke. His voice was a feeble quivering as he forced his prediction upon them. "Seek the bird."

Oswald's hand tightened around the Belderiver, its urgent pull compelling him to let the darkness take over. The rage behind his eyes blinded him, with only this minor catalyst he could feel his humanity slipping away as that dark presence towered above them. If only the dragon would cease this babbling and die.

"…That shall be your destiny," croaked Hindel.

Oswald's fury exploded.

The shadow washed over him, burning like a furious flame as his sword pierced through that same darkness, a blade of his anger. He felt it uncoil as he stepped atop the dragon's neck to silence it forever. The creature closed its eyes and spoke no further, but it was too late for silence now. There was enough of him left to make a quick end of it, some sense of humanity remained as he plunged his blade into the dragons soft neck muscles.

As the creature sighed a death rattle, the shadow slipped away again, and he swayed at the loss of it; feeling weak and crippled as he returned to his human form. Hindel was dead.

The Belderiver still glowed temptingly in his hand.

He was filled with a bitter distaste for his loss of self and the unpleasant task he had just completed, but turned that self-disgust outward. "Hmph," he snorted, lowering his weapon with a scornful smirk. "It is as Melvin said."

He stepped down from the dead dragon's neck, the dull clunk of his armour now eerily loud atop the silent plateau. His gaze returned to the country laid out before him, and he turned his blade towards it. "As long as I have this Belderiver even the dragons shall fear me."

It was a long journey down Horn Mountain and back into Ringford, but an unburdened one. He did not take the dragons head. Some guilt over the life he had taken had remained, and it had turned his stomach at the thought of desecrating the corpse. He had killed hundreds, perhaps even thousands of the Aesir on the raging battlefield he now navigated, his hands were forever stained with blood, but they were not the innocents that great beast had been.

The troops of Ragnanival were a blight: they had brought war to the borders of Ringford, but only after they had realised the kingdom was weakened and divided by the war between the fairies and dwarves. Now Ringford itself was peaceful again, but its inhabitants were trapped inside those country borders as the Aesir struggled to invade them. They now only left their borders in aid of the war effort at the battlegrounds beyond the forest.

The dark power of Oswald's blade chilled him, and even now he slipped through the battlefield shadows silently, hoping to go unnoticed on his flight back to Ringford. Simply to be prevented from the need to draw it again. It was possible his father would be angry that he had not brought Hindel's head with him, but somehow he doubted Queen Elfaria would be thrilled to receive such a gory trophy, no matter what its procurement might prove.

Finally, he slipped under the cool canopy of trees along the border of their territory. The forest was its own form of defence, but even so Oswald felt that his presence going undetected by his own people was a concern; if he could penetrate their borders, then why not the Aesir? True his power was fearful, but they had their own champions: The mighty Demon Lord, Odin, King of Ragnanival, and Odin's witch. The pair were legends amongst the fairies, he had heard many tales of their fearful might in battle although he had never witnessed it for himself.

As if to allay his fears, a unicorn knight stepped from beneath the shadow of a great tree and challenged him.

"Who passes here, be they friend or some doomed soul?" The unicorn gnashed his teeth, recognising him instantly as he stepped into the light. "Doomed indeed, but not an enemy… for now. What are you doing out here shadow knight?"

Oswald halted before him. "I have returned from my mission, I seek Melvin."

The unicorn snorted, glaring at the Belderiver. "You stink of death."

"Yes, we are at war, we all stink of death."

"You were born with death on you _human_; this is not your place."

Oswald felt the sword at his side thrum with energy, but reined back the dark urge to draw it. "My father is here; my place is with him, serving. Until he tells me to go I will not. Now, will you tell me where he is, or shall I forge a bloody path to his side?"

The unicorn let out a nervous huff and stepped back ever so slightly. "You are all bluster, you would never raise a hand against the Vanir, the stain on your _father's_ name would be too great."

"Indeed," agreed Oswald. "But the Belderiver is a weapon without equal, and a weapon beyond control, at times. I would not strike you willingly, but my control might slip should you continue to deny me passage."

Begrudgingly, the unicorn stepped back into the shadow of the tree, once again opening the space into lane which led to the castle gardens. "Go then, and leave your accursed power unsated. Melvin seeks an audience with the queen, you will find him in the castle."

Oswald observed the unicorn momentarily for signs of subterfuge but found no lie in his actions. He had made no friends amongst the fairies, as a human he was not considered much better than the Aesir to the people of the forest. Since taking the dark power of the Belderiver he had made enemies though, he was feared. It was only a matter of time before someone acted against him, better that he was prepared to evade attack than be forced to counter it, putting both he and his father in a tenuous position.

Following the path he stepped out into the Ringford Gardens. As always it was perpetual twilight here. Moon blossoming flowers were boasting soft glowing orbs at their centre, reflecting the mother light above them in the starlit sky. The soft, pastel colours of this illumination were of every spectrum imaginable, and their brilliance bounced off the trees which sheltered them in a pageant of ethereal beauty. It created such a spectacle that Oswald stopped to drink it in, as he found he did each time he entered the gardens, struck anew by the splendour on each visit.

Remembering his task he moved onward, in a hallowed place such as this even the Belderiver seemed to sleep. What blasphemy that the Aesir thought to invade here. He stepped into the castle entrance and watched as nearby fairies and dwarves alike turned away from him with fear and disgust written on their faces. Resolute he cut a path towards the throne room, this reception no different to what he usually met upon his return. He found he father before he needed to enter the room, pacing restlessly outside of the door.

"Oswald," he greeted

He bowed to his father, and the commander of the fairies gave him a dazzling smile. The lack of blood relation between them was instantly obvious to any onlooker. Melvin was light where Oswald was dark, his hair a cascade of pale gold curls, tall and lithe with an inhuman, otherworldly beauty about him. He moved with measured grace, every action weighed and considered before it was taken. It was his wings which clearly drew the line between them, though, the glasslike dragon fly appendages which fanned from his back, glossy and crystal-like. This marked him as fairy, as its lack marked Oswald as other.

"Melvin, I have completed my task."

"Welcome back Oswald, this is excellent timing. I am on my way to Elfaria now. Walk with me."

Oswald fell into step besides his father, ignoring the stares of the castle inhabitants.

Melvin glanced over at him, perplexed. "What have you done with the head? If you have done as I asked then surely you must have it, you did kill the dragon?

Oswald hesitated, regretful to shame his father. "I have not returned with it. Hindel lies dead at my hand, but I have not brought the proof you requested. I… I apologise."

His father gave an irritated huff. "Well, never mind then. The proof will have to be your word, the Belderiver has exceeded all that we have hoped for then. Brom must be praised for the birth of this creation."

Oswald wondered briefly it the dwarf creator was aware of the dark nature of the weapon. He knew it was his father's desire to have the sword mass produced, and shuddered inwardly at the thought of the dark army it would bring about. They were at war, however, and sacrifices must be made.

The two men stopped in the doorway of the hearing chamber and Melvin knocked twice on the large oak door. The sprawling luminescent marble surrounding the door, and which made up the winding halls of the castle, made Oswald's eyes water. He felt out of place here, dressed all in black armour, a stain on this pristine place.

"Melvin."

Both men turned to see the queen of the fairies approaching from behind them; it seemed she had not been in the audience chamber as Melvin had expected. Oswald bowed low, paying his respects to his queen. Melvin did not, he was her brother and his rank and family ties allowed such exceptions.

"Greetings, Queen Elfaria," he smiled. "I thought you would be waiting within," he indicated the door to the chamber they had stopped before.

"There was something I needed to attend to: my daughter has been causing some uproar amongst her tutors." Elfaria returned his smile with a rueful one of her own, but even so, she was glorious.

Her kinship with Melvin was obvious: she had every facet of his quiet grace and the same long, golden curls spilling across her shoulders. Her dress was layered green silk chemise, slit heavily up one side to display the curve of a perfect leg. She was crowned with flowers, fresh and growing amongst her hair, and behind them stood the grandeur of her perfect butterfly wings. The intricate pattern of her swallowtail wing span was accented with hues of blue, pink and purple, which seemed to ebb with the same glow of the Ringford moon lilies. She was not just beautiful though, she stood tall and proud, every inch a queen, with an air of authority and duty.

"I wanted to meet and bring you some news, but now that Oswald has returned I instead seek an audience to bring you hope for our victory."

"Glad tidings indeed," the queen answered, turning secretive eyes on Oswald. "What plan have you brought me to improve our struggles?"

Melvin's eyes became cunning, and he indicated for Oswald to draw his blade. Reluctantly, he did, feeling the strain of dark whispering as his hand clasped the handle.

"This is the strongest blade among all Psyphers," began Melvin, indicating the Belderiver in Oswald's hand. "It surpasses even the might of the Demon Lord's weapon, Balor."

Elfaria gave him a shrewd look, glancing doubtfully at the sword before her. "I have heard that the power of the sword is enough to ward off curses." There was a pointed look in Oswald's direction as she spoke, which Melvin followed with understanding.

"Hm!? Ah..." He turned to his foster son, tapping his top lip impatiently. "Good. Leave us, Oswald."

Oswald hesitated for a moment and then bowed to both parties, taking his leave, somewhat begrudgingly. Was he not to be party to the discussion because he had failed to bring back Hindel's head? Or was the queen also fearful of his dark power and uncomfortable in his presence? No, more likely he simply didn't have a high enough calibre to be privy to the discussion. There was little he could do about it; he must simply wait until Melvin summoned him to explain what the outcome of his proposal had been. If Brom could mass produce the Psypher weapons then the Vanir could easily win their war with the Aesir.

As if summoned by his thoughts, he caught sight of the dwarf Brom, standing in the passage way outside of the kitchens. He hurried to his side, glad to have found something to take his mind from the waiting.

"I did not think to find you inside the palace," he said, leaning over the dwarf. "Have you come to await the outcome of Melvin's talk with Queen Elfaria?"

Frowning, he noticed the little man looked perplexed, his eyes startled as he turned towards Oswald.

"What is it?"

Brom glanced around nervously, shuffling his feet and not meeting Oswald's eyes. "I am pulled in two directions at once," he admitted. "I fear I do not know what I have created, perhaps the cost is too great." He glanced furtively at the sword by Oswald's side.

"What are your concerns?" asked the young man, worried by the dwarfs odd demeanour. "Melvin will be finished with his proposal soon, can you not speak to him, surely he will hear you on any subject?"

The little man met his eyes for the first time, his face stony. "Melvin… Oswald, do not place too much trust in Melvin." The little man wiped his brow, his eyes pleading. "He thinks nothing of you."

Oswald felt his back stiffen, his spine felt like ice. His face was shuttered as he stared down at the little man who his father trusted implicitly, who was now telling Oswald that his father felt no affection for him. Surely only an assassin could strike his vulnerability so surely.

Brom must have noticed the change that came over him for his mouth became stubborn and he continued insistently. "Let me prove it-"

"Speak not of Melvin." Oswald hissed, hot anger licking down his veins. "I will not hear a word against him."

How dare this betrayer besmirch his father's good name? Proof? If there were such a thing Oswald would destroy it. How long had he lived in this nest of vipers now? He had always been alone; there had never been anyone whom he could trust, no one but his father. The man had given him a place to belong, not fit in perhaps, but belong, and he would be forever grateful. The affection Oswald felt for the dwarf took a great blow as he watched him sweat after his declaration.

Why would he say such a thing?

It was no so long since the dwarves had risen up against the fairies and eventually been overcome and enslaved, there had been disquiet amongst the race ever since. Now they were united as one people, but the residual hatred from their conflict remained. Was this some trace of that? A sliver of loathing that was now coming to a head? If they should seek to derail his father's plans he would strike them all down.

He felt the Belderiver surge with his anger and gritted his teeth, stifling his fury.

"I will take my leave," he grated, turning and almost running from the dwarf to stop himself from striking him down on the spot. If the little man called to his retreating back he did not hear him, his head filled with the thrum of the Beldriver's battle song.

Should he speak to Melvin of this? It was almost an embarrassment, as if asking Melvin to reassure him of his affections. No, he would not speak of it. Better to give the dwarf space to think on his mistake, perhaps only cowardice had caused him to speak such untruths. He knew the little man feared the mass production of such powerful weapons for their army would lead only to destruction.

Oswald stopped in a darkened corridor, his head spinning as he fought to regulate both his breathing and his control over the Belderiver. As he calmed, he realised he was not alone in the darkened space, but his presence had gone unnoticed. Two young fairies stood beyond the pillars he was shadowed by, deep in discussion.

"The Demon Lords daughters are evil," muttered the first one, tossing her hair. "They lead the Valkyries and eagerly slaughter all they face in battle."

The second fairy nodded, her eyes wide. "It is too much to expect us to fight against such fiends," she whispered.

Oswald sat, leaning against the pillar with his eyes closed, hoping to block them out. He had not meant to intrude on their whispered conversation. The people of the forest were afraid, this battle could not continue on forever, eventually Ringford would fall. Melvin was right, their best chance would be to mass produce the dark weapons and obliterate the Aesir entirely. What if Brom did not comply with the mass production?

He sighed, unwilling to think if such an unpleasant occurrence. There were other things for him to worry about, he had just overheard that the Demon Lord had daughters, plural, not a single daughter for the army to contend with. He had only known of the one they named 'Odin's witch,' was the other as formidable in battle? If only he should have the luck to one day to meet this witch on the killing field, she would find her glorious Valkyrie death in battle on that day. He swore to himself that if he ever had that chance to draw his blade against her he would make his father proud, and the Belderiver's foreboding red glowed with approval.


	2. Valkyrie

Gwendolyn stood on her bedroom balcony looking up at the spiralling stars in the sky above. Ragnanival, and the Aesir, were sleeping in the city below the castle. She herself could never sleep on the eve of a battle. She turned at the sound of a light tap on her chamber door, smiling slightly when her sister, Griselda, slipped through it to stand in the shadows cast by the flickering candle on her dresser. She was dressed as Gwendolyn was, in a long white nightgown, but where Gwendolyn's hair was loose Griselda had hers pinned up. It was her preference to always be ready for battle in such small details. Gwendolyn was sure that if her sister could have slept in her armour then she would have attempted it.

"It is late Griselda," said Gwendolyn in mock irritation, watching her sister's mouth quirk at the dismissal.

"I knew you would still be awake, sister." She gave her a knowing smile. "You can never sleep on the eve of battle. Come, let me keep you company until dawn for once. The early hours must be very lonely when you keep your vigil."

It is not a vigil, I simply worry for our country. Our battle against the fairies never seems to wane and every day I wonder at the purpose of it. So many deaths and I still cannot understand why we must invade that land."

"You are soft hearted as always."

Gwendolyn left the balcony to approach her sister. "But why are you not sleeping tonight? Although I appreciate your companionship, shouldn't you rest before you fly into battle tomorrow?"

"A sentiment I share for your own well-being but which I know will be ignored. If you will not sleep than nor shall I." She sighed. "Come, sit with me sister. Let me brush your hair as mother once did."

Gwendolyn smiled sadly, perching on the end of her bed delicately. She could not remember their mother well, she had been five when she had died from an illness. Griselda had been eight. It was said that her father, King Odin, had been a joyful man when her mother still lived, quick to smile. Now it felt that they were ever a country at war, hardened and proud of that image. Her father had not smiled since her mother's death. She could no longer remember his smile.

Griselda padded silently across the room and retrieved a fine ebony brush from Gwendolyn's dresser. Settling herself comfortably behind her sister on the bed, she cut the first soft stroke through Gwendolyn's hair. The bristles caressed her head rhythmically, and Gwendolyn felt herself relax slightly, some of her nervous energy ebbing away.

"Will you not take some milk and sleep tonight, little bird? You will need your strength tomorrow," Griselda asked.

"What of you sister? Tomorrow you will not wield a brush but your fine spear. You are the pride of the army, the finest Valkyrie there is. Do not remain here all night with me, I beg you to take rest in your chambers."

She felt Griselda slide a gentle hand over her head, smoothing down layers of silver blonde hair.

"I am not the one they call 'Odin's Witch', you are the one that has claimed such a ferocious title with the people. I think the pride of the army sits here before me."

Gwendolyn shuddered. She hated that nick name; she wasn't sure whether it was their army or the enemy's army that had started calling her that, but it had always chilled her.

"I think we both know that anonymity is proof of far more than a hasty title. You remain unnamed _because_ of the skill of your spear. No enemy remains to speak of you once you fly into battle. There are no survivors to spread word of your might, such is your talent to go unnoticed." She turned back to her sister, regarding her seriously over her shoulder. "That is why father loves you so."

Griselda smiled a small smile. "I think he loves you best because you are more similar to mother. She had a soft heart like you, she was always too kind, and that's why the people adored her."

Gwendolyn sighed contently as her sister slid the brush through her hair again. "Will you tell me about her?" she asked.

She felt her sister pause for a moment, considering. "She was a woman who loved music very much. When she was alive the castle was always full of bards and new unknown instruments. She would walk through the castle humming new strains of a song she had heard; completely unaware that she was even doing so. She loved to play hide and seek with us, too, and sometimes she would sneak into the kitchen and return with surprises for us." Griselda chucked. "Of course, she was the queen, so it hardly mattered if she got caught there, but it would have ruined the joy of the game."

"Was she very beautiful?"

"Oh yes, she was very lovely, very graceful, and she loved father so much."

"And he loved her."

Griselda was silent for a few moments. "Yes, he loved her." She shifted on the bed, running her fingers through her sister's long hair. "She had the most beautiful dresses too, and they were all blue, just like the colour of your feathers. Her wings were nearly identical to yours."

"I wish I could remember her better," sighed Gwendolyn.

Her sister's hands came up to rest firmly on her shoulders. "Is Myris here?" she asked, changing the subject abruptly.

"Why, she is in the chamber next door, I imagine." Gwendolyn replied, feeling slightly disappointed that the stories of their mother had ended already.

"Good," said Griselda, pushing herself up from the bed and stretching her cramped wings. "Where is your bell?"

"Over by the candle," he sister answered. "What is it that you need?"

"You shall see," smiled Griselda secretly, gliding across the room to ring the summoning bell for her personal maid. Gwendolyn admired the way the flickering light caught her sister's fine form. Lithe and agile, her grand wings stretching from her waist, hues of pink and purple patterned through her glossy feathers. She was always as grand as a princess, but she was a warrior first and foremost, and this was always obvious from the self-assured way in which she carried herself.

Moments later there was a light knock on the chamber door.

"Enter," murmured her sister, just loudly enough to be heard through the door.

Her pooka maid, Myris, entered hesitantly, bowing her head low to Griselda. Her long furry ears flapped wildly as she did so; Gwendolyn knew that this usually meant that she was nervous. For some reason Myris always felt anxious when faced by her elder sister, although Gwendolyn could not say why. Griselda simply had that sort of effect on a lot of people.

Griselda crossed the space between them and knelt down to whisper in Myris's ear. Gwendolyn watched as her maid nodded enthusiastically and bobbed a quick curtsy before hurrying from the room.

"What did you say to her?" she asked.

Griselda smiled at her sister. "I asked her to fetch something for me."

"But what?"

"You shall see."

They waited, and before long Myris returned with reams of fabric in tow, the tiny creature was half lost in its offering. Griselda took the item from her and held it up before her sister.

Gwendolyn gasped. It could only be one of her mother's dresses, and it was beautiful. "Oh, it's lovely, did she often wear this?"

Griselda nodded, a nostalgic look in her eye. "This one was her favourite."

Gwendolyn reached out to run a hand over the fabric. "It makes me feel a little bit closer to her; I can almost imagine her wearing it."

"You'll be able to see the vision itself soon enough," said her sister, shaking the dress lightly. "Try it on."

"No." Gwendolyn shook her head nervously. "I couldn't, it was mothers."

"She would have wanted you to have it, to remember her. Please little bird, I long to see it on you."

The reluctant sister looked at the dress longingly. "Okay, but only for a moment."

With only her sister and maid present, Gwendolyn de-robed boldly, but felt a small glow of embarrassment in her cheeks as she hurried to slip the gown on.

"See here," said her sister, smoothing down her wings. "They sit snugly beneath the dress."

"But what if I should need them? I'm tactically disadvantaged!"

"Ah, yes, that is true," said her sister dreamily. "But back when this was worn there were no wars."

Gwendolyn stared down at the dress wonderingly, as if the gown itself were responsible for peace.

"I wonder if father can still remember such times."

"Come," her sister pulled her towards the long wall mirror so that she could admire herself in the gown.

The dark blue satin spill of the dress had hidden her wings, bunches of lighter blue chiffon reminding her of the colours of the feather beneath. Her shoulders lay bare, pale and slim like the length of her throat, white like a lily. Silver blonded hair fell heavily to frame her face as her large violet eyes drank in the vision of the dress. As a Valkyrie she had only ever known armour. This dress was something new and wonderful, and she found herself smiling despite herself. For a moment it seemed that peace was not simply some frivolous dream.

"You look just like her," murmured her sister sadly. "I would that father could see you dressed so."

"It cannot be," shrugged Gwendolyn. "We are warriors now; we have no need of fine dresses."

Her sister's face was haunted in the mirror from over her shoulder, lost in memories.

"Will you wear this for me tomorrow sister, to show our father?"

Gwendolyn turned to her sister. "Tomorrow? I cannot, tomorrow we fly into battle."

"But you need not go yourself. Let me lead the army alone this one time. Your heart is not in war, little bird, as mother's was not. I can see this as easily as I can see how alike you are to her."

Gwendolyn gave her sister an alarmed look. "But father-"

"It is father I think of," replied her sister. "If he can see you thus, and remember mother, perhaps it will bring a smile to his face."

The words sent an ache through Gwendolyn's heart. To make her father happy… to finally see him smile after all these years of fighting and sadness. It would bring her such joy if he could accomplish this one thing.

"Do you not trust me as a warrior, despite your fine words for me earlier?" taunted Griselda.

"No!" cried Gwendolyn. "I meant every word I said, you are the greatest fighter I have ever known. Only you could stand against the terror of the Shadow Knight!"

"Now you are simply over praising me," chided Griselda.

"Indeed I am not," she protested. She truly believed that even that the demon of legend would fall beneath her sister's spear.

"Then you must stand by those words sister; let me lead the armies tomorrow. Stay here, in the castle, little bird, and see if this dress can accomplish what years of war have failed to do. Bring joy into father's heart again."

Gwendolyn looked long at the dress in the mirror and at her sister standing behind her, wraithlike in white with her silver white hair and pale skin. She sighed.

"It will be as you ask then, I will stay tomorrow, but only if you promise to return to your chambers now to sleep before the battle."

Her sister smiled, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the head.

"Farewell then, little bird. I will retire for the night and take my rest. My heart will go with you tomorrow; I hope we can both revel in the success of our conflicting actions then."

As her sister walked to the door, Gwendolyn felt an odd sense of loss at the absence of the comforting presence at her back.

"Griselda," she called, stopping her sister as she opened the chamber door. Her sister paused, her eyes serious and shadowed. Gwendolyn hesitated, not quite sure why she had stopped her.

"My heart will be with you on the morrow too," she told her quietly.

"Then both our hearts will be glad," whispered her sister with a private smile, and she slipped out of the door and into the night.

Gwendolyn walked out onto the balcony again, feeling the cool night air buffer against the layers of fine fabric she wore. She looked up into the stars, feeling that she had lost the part of herself that was Valkyrie for a moment. She tried to ignore the weight of her mother's gown, confining her wings, and wondered if it would make her father smile.


	3. Odin's daughter

Oswald paced, frustrated.

Queen Elfaria had apparently been impressed by the power of the Belderiver, and charmed at the idea of its might when used against their enemies, but she would not yet permit its mass production. Although the dark instrument turned Oswald's stomach at times, he knew how his father suffered for having his plan knocked back. As Oswald owed the man all that he was, he suffered alike.

How many more of the Vanir must die before the queen would permit what was obviously their only chance of redemption? Why did she resist?

Paranoia plagued him, was this also Brom's doing? Had he been in the queen's ear, trying to blacken his father's name? Surely not, Melvin was Elfaria's blood after all; she would not permit such treasonous slander against him. He merely suffered from his own guilt as he had made the decision to not pass on Brom's betrayal to Melvin. He was caught between his fondness for the dwarf and his dedication to his father.

Oswald's lip twitched with distaste as he saw a young monarch-winged female hovering on the edge of his vision, obviously trying to gain his attention. Now he had to rein in his anger again and find his courtly face; he felt the pull of the dark Belderiver, and it tore at him, demanding he quench his anger with blood. It would be easier if others weren't so tentative around him; the avoidance galled him, and it fuelled the fury of his sword.

He steadied his breathing, finding a rhythmic pace to adhere to while he let the anger siphon away. When he was calm again, he lifted his chin, meeting the monarch's eyes. Her wings were a glorious yellow behind her and it made his eyes water slightly at the luminescence as he tried to focus on her face.

"Shadow Knight," she half whispered, swallowing heavily. "The messengers are here, if you could-"

"Fine," he interrupted. It was the only reason he'd been staying so close to the accursed castle at such a busy time of day, after all. "I'll let Lord Melvin know, thanks for passing on the message."

The 'thanks' stuck in his throat, but only because he knew it was likely the fairies had drawn lots on who would come to relay the information to him.

He made his way to the Ringford Gardens, he knew he'd find Melvin there; still licking his wounds after his confrontation with Elfaria. It had become quite heated between them, apparently, but both were too stubborn to back down from their stance on the weapon in question.

As he felt the familiar soft glow of the twilight flowers wash over him, and with it a feeling of peace, he saw Melvin through one of the lattice arches. As Oswald passed through the garden divider the sparkling lights which glittered upon it, and which he had thought were a feature of its design, exploded into the sky in a rush of silvery wings. Momentarily startled, he paused, watching the small jewelled bugs rocket into the darkened sky and twinkle like stars. Whn he looked back to his father again he could now see that he was deep in conversation with the very dwarf who had been heavy in Oswald's thoughts. Strains of their conversation floated to him on the heady garden scent.

"-The queen highly praised the sword you created…"

"-Terrified… turned into ghosts… Oswald…" muttered Brom.

Oswald felt his ears prick at the sound of his own name as he stepped closer, unsure of whether he should practice silence or announce his arrival.

"Don't look so glum, Brom, Oswald shall be fine. He is a true swordsman."

Oswald felt a warm glow from the praise his father was paying him, and, feeling guilty at overhearing a conversation not meant for him, sought to make his footfalls louder amongst the lush greenery he navigated. When he raised his eyes from his feet again he looked directly up and into Melvin's own, and although Brom looked shocked at his sudden appearance, he had a suspicious feeling that Melvin had been aware of his proximity for some time.

He schooled his voice to coolness. "Melvin, the messengers are calling."

He did not want it known he had been eavesdropping on them, it had hardly been intentional. His step father's compliment would warm him for some time to come in the dark shadow of the Belderiver, however.

Melvin had a sly smile, and Oswald could not discern whether the man suspected he had overheard them or not. "I shall be there shortly."

Oswald inclined his head and then turned to go. It was only as he made his way back through the arch again, already alight with glimmering insect carapaces, that he heard Brom's closing words reach him on a soft breeze.

"...I never should have crafted that weapon. It will part the heavens and tear the earth asunder."

Oswald felt a shiver run up his spine, as if it were some self-fulfilling prophecy, and clenched his hand over the sheath of the Belderiver.

He began to walk faster, not back to the castle, but further out into the gardens. The twilight flowers were not stilling the unease in his heart as they usually did, even with the soft light of phozons dancing in the air. The thrum of the Belderiver would not quiet; as if Brom's parting words had called it by name. It was awake, a blasphemy in this holy garden of purity, as was he. Holding their combined maliciousness in check was wearing on him.

He soon realised his own disquiet had dulled his senses as he stood there lost, not sensing the presence which had suddenly come uncomfortably close, and without due warning.

"Oswald, I must speak up."

He spun to find Brom standing behind him. He had clearly followed after him once he had finished his conversation with Melvin. Oswald clenched his teeth together tightly, ignoring the need to draw his blade after being taken by surprise.

"Listen to me... This is about the fate of your sword," cried Brom, clearly sensing the dismissal in his own stance.

_The Belderiver? _Oswald gave the dwarf a hard look.

Brom returned it nervously. "Those Revenants up in the mountains... they are former users of the Belderiver."

Oswald frowned, had he heard wrong? The Revenants were little more than malicious spirits, they could never wield a sword, they were incorporeal beings. The little man was clearly addled.

"What is it...?" he asked tiredly, feeling weary. Did he really have to put up with this little man's delusions?

"I deeply regret handing you that sword," sighed the dwarf, failing to register Oswald's obvious disinterest. "That blade will take its wielder to the Netherworld, where he loses his soul-"

"The same fate awaits you!" came the sudden shout behind them, making both Oswald and Brom jump. Melvin stood nearby, his face stormy.

Oswald felt another blow to his warrior credibility, he had failed to recognise yet another approaching party; he was slipping today.

His father was fuming; clearly he had expected Brom's duplicity and followed closely behind him. He had arrived flanked by tall, twinned scarab-wing guards, who were clearly itching for a fight. Perhaps Oswald's story of Brom's slander was unrequired after all? He should have credited that Melvin would already be aware of any small signs of betrayal; he was the commander of the Vanir army, after all.

"Brom!" Melvin seethed. "I told you; it won't do you any good."

Oswald watched the crestfallen dwarfs face fill with fear. His lips shook, making his little beard wobble, but he said nothing.

"Right now, your reluctance is holding back the war efforts of our nation," hissed Melvin; "But, it is not in my nature to soil my hands with the blood of my friends."

Brom looked markedly relieve to hear it, a weak smile not quite breaking through his nervous sweat.

The returned smile could have cut the little man in half. "I shall send you to the Netherworld. The Halja will take care of you."

All of the colour drained from Brom's face and his whole body began to tremble. Unthinkingly, he reached for Melvin's frock coat, his short, dirty fingers marring its perfect lustred surface.

Melvin gave him a disgusted look. "Take the traitor away," he spat.

The scarab guards stepped forwards, roughly grabbing at the unresisting dwarf. In a flash of glossy, jade armour they each pinned an arm between them and began to haul Brom away.

"Lord Melvin!" shouted the little man, now seemingly unafraid in his desperation. "The pride that keeps you so fearless will be the thing that leads to your death!"

Oswald looked on as the dwarf began to struggle and was forcibly dragged through the gardens and away. His mouth was dry, was this all his fault? Brom had come to talk to _him_, and_ he_ had known about his earlier disloyalty. If he had spoken of it sooner could he have prevented this harsh punishment? What chance could Brom possibly stand against a Halja? He turned to his father, who was still watching the guards with a curiously bland expression.

"He fears the power of the sword and has lost his nerve," Melvin muttered under his breath. He shifted his weight and faced Oswald again. "Don't concern yourself," he said, brushing dirt from his coat absentmindedly. Then he peered at him shrewdly, as if scenting further conspiracy in the air. "Or... Are you beginning to despise the sword yourself?"

Oswald felt his blood chill at the ice in his step father's voice. "I... All I wish is to be able to continue serving you." He paused, this was true, even if it were he who had been asked to drag Brom to the Netherworld for Melvin, he would have done it in a heartbeat. "I shall obey your commands."

"Ah, Oswald," Melvin smiled, finally warming. "I'm so lucky to have such a devoted son."

Oswald ducked his head, it was not often that Melvin spoke of the fostering, it pleased him. Even so, a shadow hung over the happiness, tarnished by the preceding events.

Melvin grinned, as if sensing his fractured thoughts and hoping to channel them. "Now, come here. I have a task only you can perform."

His father began to walk towards the forest border and Oswald found that he was soon following after him.

"'Tis reconnaissance into the very heart of the enemy."

As Oswald listened to the task required of him, and Melvin's meticulous instructions, he found himself distracted. Strangely, he could no longer remember the praise his father had paid him earlier in the garden, and his heart was tight and congested from its loss.

It had been easy to cross the border this time.

It didn't hurt that he rode at the back of the Vanir army, once they had clashed with the Aesir on the border of the Raging Battlefields it had simply been a matter of navigating the conflict itself, which he was all too familiar with. He doubted his exit from Ragnanival would be quite so easy upon his return, but making his way into the city of Nepulapolis had been pathetically simple. It was only a short distance now to the Demon Lord's castle.

The Demon Lord Odin. If only his father had charged him with his death, instead he was sent to scout for information from his very stronghold. The Aesir had long been trying to invade Ringford, but his father now suspected he knew why, they were seeking the Crystallisation Cauldron. The cauldron itself was a tool of destruction, created by the mad king of the lost city of Valentine; it had brought about the end of that empire. It had the power to turn phozons into psyphers, much like the blade Oswald wore at his side, and he suspected Brom's creation stemmed from some similar mechanism.

In the right hands it might be a powerful ally, if not for the fact that phozons were the life source of the fairies and that the cauldron itself sucked them directly from the land, leaving it desolate and infertile. The Aesir did not care about that, they would use it to gather as many phozons as they could, blackening the soil which was the lifeblood of the fairy kingdom. Even so, possessing it would gain them nothing if they did not have the mechanism to command the cauldron. Oswald did not know what the key to its power was, but it was held by Queen Elfaria, a useful tool for gathering phozons to nourish her kingdom. King Odin knew nothing of the key.

Weaving past tall, ivory columns, Oswald realised he had at some point made the transition from city to castle. He stood now in the home of the Demon Lord, and the grandeur of the seat of power was no less great than that of the fairies home. Every surface was paved with marble, glossy and perfect, and much of the structure was open to the weather, wall-less. He suspected the Valkyrie's preferred it this way, being winged creatures, anything less might feel like a cage, and he wondered that such ideals had never been considered by the Vanir. The halls seemed to stretch on forever, vast and exposed, and Oswald would have felt trepidation had both city and castle not been so deserted. Or perhaps he should feel vulnerable because of just such a reason? Surely all the populace could not be out on the battlefield?

As if to pay mock credence to his thoughts, he rounded a corner to find himself in company, and quickly ducked into the shadow of a nearby pillar.

A huge, burly man sat on a plush red rug, platters and wineskins littered around him. He wore little armour, but his skin appeared so leathery that it seemed as if little would be required, no doubt his hide was just as hard to pierce without it. Huge furs were draped about his shoulders and he had a great shock of red, scruffy hair which encompassed the long red moustache which was lost amongst it; Oswald recognised him from stories of battle. Lord Brigand, Odin's war general, but what was he doing here when the battlefields were filled?

The humongous man raised a huge horn of spirits to his mouth and quaffed it noisily, letting the overflow trickle down his chin carelessly. In his other hand he held a huge war hammer, and he seemed to grip it tightly, as if angrily gathering his thoughts.

"The Demon Lord will hear this and be dumbfounded. Odin, you coward!" he suddenly yelled. "Denying my strategy and launching a sneak attack with the Valkyries."

Oswald blinked in surprise; he suspected the man must be drunk, even at this hour, to be taking his anger out on an empty room. As Brigand took another swig from his flagon, however, he realised the room was not empty at all. Next to the general there was a spindly older man wearing red robes and with a long, white beard, which he was stroking like a pet. He had simply been overshadowed by the overbearing presence of the other.

"'Tis a timid move to make against the Fairies," agreed the wizened man.

"Exactly!" shouted the large man. "All we have to do is stomp those winged bugs on the front lines."

Oswald watched as a Valkyrie maid timidly entered and bowed to Lord Brigan, placing another platter amongst his generous feast. He felt his lip curl. This woman was clearly a Valkyrie, in her armour, and she was being made to serve meals like some lowly kitchen maid? How humiliating for her.

"All of you... You're all cowards!" roared Brigan to her retreating back, which Oswald could see was stiff with outrage.

The man with the white beard leaned in closer. "Lord Brigan, methinks you might be more suitable to lead the country."

Brigan wiped the back of his arm across his mouth. "You think so? You flatter me, Skuldi. Do you really think that?"

Skuldi grinned, his yellow, aged teeth flashing in a horrific display. "Yes, of course. Odin is a feeble old man. Only you can run the nation."

Oswald tried to reposition himself better to get a good view of the duplicitous old man; this sort of treasonous talk would be of great interest to Melvin.

"Eh?" the old man turned in his direction and Oswald cursed inwardly at the clink of his heavy armour. "Who goes there?"

Brigan sobered immediately, glaring into the shadows which no longer protected Oswald's presence. "What? Is someone hiding?"

There was nothing for it now, he had been detected. Ready to face the men he stepped out and into the light of the room, preparing for battle.

"And just who are you? You'd like to share a drink with us, eh?" jeered Brigan. "If not, don't interfere!"

Oswald hesitated, were they really not going to challenge his presence? Schooling his features, he turned as if to leave the room.

"...Wait a minute," grumbled the huge man, thoughtfully. "You were listening to us just now, weren't you?"

The mountain stood, and Oswald felt his pulse quicken at the very bulk of the giant as he advanced, heavy battle hammer in hand. "Who are you!? Speak, or I'll crush your head until your name falls out!"

Without waiting for a reply, however, he swung his hammer towards him, and Oswald leapt back and away, out of the path of his cleave. Before he knew it the Belderiver was in his hand, its blighted energy numbing his arm and threatening to overtake him. He refused to be overcome however, instead wielding it without giving in to the dark force behind it, slashing at the huge man before him.

It was not in his best interests to kill Brigan, this man was an unlikely ally if he aimed to betray King Odin, a kingdom fraught by political conflict would be easier to capture, after all. Oswald aimed for the small circle plates of armour that the man wore instead of his flesh, using his speed to overtake the man.

Although Brigan was strong, he was slow, his hammer would swing fast enough but he failed to deflect Oswald's own attacks in turn. The knight had no doubt, however, that should he find himself under the hammers blow he would be crushed.

As the battle went on Brigan became tired, the swing of his hammer becoming sloppy, and Oswald knew it was time to end the fight. Drawing on a small portion of the dark energy of the sword, he gathered strength, channelling it into his next blow. As he laid the flat of his sword heavily across Brigand's helm he felt it crack, the dizzying blow leaving the humungous man stumbling about until he toppled to the floor, unconscious.

Skuldi was nowhere to be seen, he had clearly made himself scarce as soon as danger had reared its ugly head.

Oswald looked down at the comatose mountain of a man, as his sword burned in his hand, demanding an end to the life before it. Instead Oswald sheathed it, kicking over trays of food to help alleviate the destructive instinct in him until it passed. He was breathing heavily by the time it had calmed, not from the exertions of the battle but from the strain of keeping his own body in check.

And his task was not yet done.

He continued forward through the castle again, more carefully this time. It would not be long before the general was found unconscious, or more likely woke, he must make haste. He was not made for subterfuge, however, his armour clattered as he ran. Invisibility wasn't worth much when they could hear him coming, but it couldn't be helped.

Soon enough he found the throne room, empty, as so many other rooms had been before it. He approached the grand seat of power which was surprisingly simple in its ornamentation, considering the grandness of the castle. This room, too, was open, and he caught sight of the Ragnanival sky, full of spiralling stars despite the fact that it could be no later than midday. It reminded him of the eternal twilight of the Ringford Gardens, perhaps the two places were not so very different.

Next to the throne was a missive, clearly written by one of the Valkyrie warriors.

_Your Highness_

_General Brigan has absconded from battle; he is angered that his foolhardy tactical plan has been ignored. If the battle for the cauldron becomes dire enough he will enter the battlegrounds to seize the day but will expect to be rewarded equally to merit the assistance he provides to a failing army._

_Rosalinn_

So the man was not on the killing fields because of some dispute over tactics, what a traitorous villain. Surely King Odin would strike him down for such insubordination?

_Odin. So he is after the Cauldron. The general spoke the truth. The invasion is almost here._

As he replaced the note carefully, he felt a warning tingle in the air. Glancing around quickly, he noticed a safe outcropping in the buttresses above him. Seconds later he had leapt to safety, calling on some of the swords power to wrap himself in shadow. A woman entered the room below, followed closely by a pooka.

"Oh," said the woman, seeming disappointed, "he is not yet here, Myris."

The pooka flapped its ears and smoothed down its frock, giving the woman a kindly look. "Princess Gwendolyn, it fits you perfectly."

The girl, Gwendolyn, smiled sweetly, looking down at her dress. "Do you think so? I wonder if Father will be surprised..."

Her words were cut off by the thunderous footsteps of the man in question. King Odin swept into the room, his cape billowing behind him. His long beard was a starlit white, just like Gwendolyn's hair, and atop it perched a golden crown.

He regarded his daughter angrily. "Gwendolyn! Why are you wearing that!?" He stormed forward, huge plates of his armour gnashing like teeth as he passed by her roughly. "For King Odin's daughter to be concerned with her image instead of battle, you could learn a thing or two from your sister."

Oswald gaped. This was the Demon Lord's daughter? A Valkyrie? She looked every inch a maiden princess. The soft blue of her silk gown sparkled under the Ragnanival stars, her silky, silver hair cascading prettily over bare shoulders.

"...M-My apologies..." Gwendolyn stuttered, clearly taken aback by her father's cold attitude.

As Oswald contemplated the princess, he knew she couldn't possibly be the woman they called 'Odin's Witch,' not this soft creature, it must be the sister they spoke of.

Below, another Valkyrie rushed into the room, forcing the King to turn back towards his daughter, although he did not look at her.

Breathless, the Valkyrie looked up at the towering king. "Your Majesty, Lord Brigan..."

King Odin let out an angry sigh "What is that fool doing now!?"

Oswald felt his lips tighten. So he had already been discovered, it was well past time that he left this place. He considered the space below him, which was still occupied. As the Demon Lord marched from the room, the young Valkyrie who had brought the message bowed to Gwendolyn. "Lady witch," she said, with a reverent awe, before following her king.

_Witch… Odin's Witch? _Oswald stared. Impossible, this was Odin's witch? Was the legend nothing more than some ridiculous rumour?

Below the young princess watched her father leave with a complicated expression. "He didn't notice... This was mother's dress." She turned back to the pooka. "I wonder if he'll ever remember it?"

"I apologise," lamented the pooka. "I shouldn't have brought the dress."

Gwendolyn smiled weakly. "No... Don't apologise, Myris. It was Griselda's idea, and mine, you are not to blame." She ran a loving hand across the ruffled layers of fabric skirt. "I'm happy to be able to wear my mother's dress. But..."

Myris placed her tiny paw upon Gwendolyn's hand. "Princess Gwendolyn..."

"I had hoped that he would smile." Her own smile faded at the sentiment, and suddenly she was steeled by some decision. "Let's go, I must change into my armour."

Oswald watched her dress flutter as she and Myris left the room, a single feather whisked free by the movement of her skirt landed gently on the ground; evidence of the wings that must be hidden beneath the reams of fabric.

After their departure, he dropped from his hiding place. Landing quietly, he stooped to pick it up. So preciously fragile and such a beautiful blue hue, yet those same wings were used to soar into battle. As he admired the feather, he felt that perhaps it was like the woman herself.

"Gwendolyn... The Demon Lord's daughter, known as 'Odin's Witch.'" He spoke aloud to the empty room, as if to assuage his own guilt. "Could that be her?"

Of course he knew that it must be, and he had once sworn to himself that should he ever cross her path he would strike her down for his father's sake. Yet, now that he had seen her, could he claim it was only the secrecy of his mission that had stilled his blade? He would be discovered by Brigan's testimony alone, surely? No, it was not his mission which had kept death at bay. Watching her, a woman whose eyes glittered as if full of tears which were never allowed to fall. He'd felt the same peace he usually did within the Ringford Gardens. He felt he'd met a similar soul, someone who would understand loneliness as only he did. Surely not, though, he was fooling himself. He had no people of his own. Here, at least, she had a kingdom of other Valkyries to find solace in. It was simply his imagination.

Carefully, he tucked the blue feather into the lining of his armour, close to his heart. "She seems so... different from what I've heard," he mused.

He delayed only a moment longer, considering the space she had so recently vacated, as if some trace of her presence remained there.

It was time to leave.

He jumped down from the parapet and made his way back through the city, out into the Raging Battlegrounds and beyond.

* * *

It's only now that I'm writing this that I realise how complicated the land of Erion is, the history and personages are blowing me away. I have to be really careful to research each chapter before posting so I don't make any mistakes (which hopefully I haven't).


	4. A glorious death

Thanks everyone for your comments! They make me really happy :3

* * *

Gwnedolyn ran.

It was faster to fly, she knew it would be faster, but she was too unfocused to risk it on the battlefield right now. The moment she took to the air in her current mental state she was likely to catch a Vanir arrow to the throat.

Still, speed was of the essence. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears; the same heart that she had told her sister would go into battle with her today, as if to mock that very sentiment by beating so loudly in her head.

How long had it been since Valkyrie Limsola had reported to her that Griselda had been injured on the battlefield? Minutes, hours? Her insides were tearing themselves apart with guilt and every movement seemed infinitesimally slow..

She had not been there for her sister when she was needed.

She had evaded her duty as a Valkyrie, all to wear a foolish dress; she had not donned her armour as she should. There was an aching in her chest, as if the breast plate which had lay ignored on her bed just this morning was now constricting her heart.

Where was Lord Brigan? The field was in serious chaos, their troops had lost any whisper of formation and they were being pushed back by the enemy. _We are being routed_, she realised, _and there is no commander to lead these knights. Where is Griselda?_

In her heart she knew why her sister was not to be found on the battlefield. They wouldn't have reported her injury if it wasn't severe. Even so, where could her sister possibly be? Where might she have taken cover to seek healing?

It was as these very thoughts found her that Gwendolyn caught sight of it. A glimmer of light, reflected from a ruined building down in the valley. A place where no light should be. She had been told there had once been a great city there, a doomed city, but now nothign remained but the skeletons of old buildings. It was a cursed place, fraught with pitfalls and unseen dangers. It was also difficult ground to fight on, and no troops were deployed as it was not an area crucial to either force. It should be empty, there shouldn't be any presence in those ruins, and that gave her hope that it hid the one person she now sought. As the glimmer of light caught her eye again, she felt sure she was right.

She quickly she overrode her own sensible nature and took to wing, letting her feathers splay to catch the currents so she could rocket up into the air. Below the was shouting, the thrum of bows, but it took her only a second to wheel towards the ruined buildings and perform a mad, plummeting dive to reach the beacon that called to her alone. She landed roughly, banging her knee awkwardly as she hit the ground far too fast and using it again far too quickly as she stood in a rush, a desperate expression on her face.

There, lying in the sand, was a jewelled spear.

The remnant of light that still existed under the steadily darkening sky sparkied its sharply planed tip. Its shaft was half buried in the bloody sand. The pale wash of light that refracted from its glowing, crystal core gave the ebbing life beside it a luminous appearance.

Gwendolyn felt as if her heart would stop.

"Griselda!" she called, stumbling towards the still form of her sister, basking in that dying glow. Her voice was as weak as she felt in that moment. Where was her sister's entourage, her healers? Had no one remained to care for her injuries?

A whispered reply made her eyes tear up. "Gwendolyn..."

Griselda was still alive. The feeble rise and fall of her chest were testament to that, although she looked completely bloodless in the failing light, as if she were already nothing more than spirit. There was so much blood.

Falling to the ground next to her, Gwendolyn eased her sisters head gently into her lap. A long strand of hair had fallen free of Griselda's tightly coiled bun, and Gwendolyn moved to brush it from her face. The bloody smear she painted across her sister's cheek made her mouth go dry.

"It's so... quiet now..." wheezed her sister. "The sound of battle... seems so far away."

Gwendolyn raised her shaking hands from her sisters form and found them wet with blood. The liquid was flowing freely from a bone deep gash in her sister's side, it had left one of her wings crumpled, crimson and ruined. Griselda would never fly again. The sky had been taken from her, and it was Gwendolyn's fault.

"It seems I cannot follow my King into the battle," she sighed.

Gwendolyn felt her throat go tight at the resignation she heard in her sister's voice. "No... Don't give up..." she whimpered. "It's not the end, there will be other battles. Tomorrow, we can fight again tomorrow."

The ghost of a smile played across Griselda's bloodless lips. "Do not speak of things you do not wish for, little bird. Battle has never been becoming on you, your heart was built for softer things."

"That's not true," Gwendolyn cried. "I want to always fight by your side, sister. Promise me you will always fight by my side. You cannot leave me."

Griselda raised a shaky hand towards the spear which had fallen by her side, forcing her fingers to close over it. She dragged the weapon towards her with aching tenderness.

"Gwendolyn, please take this," she said. "I have no use for it now. This spear has slain many foes, making a mountain of corpses..."

As Griselda's words faded so too did her grip, her trembling hand no longer able to support the weight of its prize.

Gwendolyn fastened her own fingers around the hilt, closing her sisters hand over over her own as if they might both wield it. She held it tightly between them like a promise.

Griselda smiled up at her weakly, her eyes unfocused. "The King... Father will undoubtedly praise my actions."

"I'm sure he will," said Gwendolyn, listening as her sister took another laboured breath. She cupped Griselda's cheek as she wiped tears from her eyes.

"Father... did he… the dress… did he smile, little bird? Did he remember mother?"

Gwendolyn could barely stand to think of the dress, the dress that had killed her sister. Their father had not smiled, perhaps he could no longer smile. Gwendolyn knew that her own smile was dying before her.

"Of course," she choked. "He remembered, he smiled. He was so happy."

Her sister let out a satisfied sigh, her face serene despite her pain. "I am glad."

Gwendolyn felt the lie burn in her mouth as if it had scorched her on the way out, her throat already swollen with anguish. She let her tears fall unrestrained across her sister's face, washing it with her grief.

Griselda raised up a shaky hand to brush it against her sister's cheek. "Do I see tears in your eyes? You're too kind, sister. Please, do not cry... Your older sister will leave the world as a great warrior."

Gwendolyn nodded. It was true, that was their belief. To fall in battle was the only way to gain an immortal soul. A Valkyrie death was a glorious thing. Far better than a life free of flight, this was certainly what Griselda would choose if given the choice of grounding or death.

Her sister shuddered, her hand falling limp. "'Tis so dark here..." she murmured.  
For the first time in her life Gwendolyn could hear fear in her sister's voice. Death was approaching and there would be no chance for Griselda to choose life. Her sister twisted her head from side to side weakly, as if looking for its approach. "Gwendolyn... I can't… see you..."

Gwendolyn was blinded by her own tears as she reached out to stroke her sister's face in comfort. For a moment her fingers fluttered across Griselda's pale, cold cheek, and her sister almost seemed to flinch away. Her head going slack and falling away from Gwendolyn's hand. There she lay completely still, the rattle of her breathing silenced. Gwendolyn's fingers were still poised in the air, as if searching for her, trembling so violently that her wrist hurt.

Something inside of her chest clenched painfully.

"Aah," she cried, as if she herself had just been mortally wounded. "Aaaaaahhhhhhhh"

Panicked, she caressed her sister's still cheek, laying another hand across the heart that beat no longer, unable to accept it. She was too empty to cry, too numb, and instead she drew her sister into one final embrace. She held her knowing that her wounds could no longer bring her pain. Until blood had coated her armour and stained the feathers of her wings. There she sat rocking her sister gently, tenderly. Just as it had been when they were children.

"Griselda," she cried. "Are you there now? Standing at the gates of Valhalla? Griselda... I won't let you be alone for long." The sentiment strengthened her will. "That's right, sister, I shall be by your side soon enough."

Death, sweet death. Why should she not follow her sister into battle and beyond? The glory of a death on the battlefield, the gateway to her beloved sister again, it beckoned.

Gently, she lay Griselda back in the sand, closing the unperceiving eyes that reflected the spiralling stars in the sky above them. She was still close to Ragnanival if she could see those stars, to home, but her destiny now lay on the Raging Battlefield above. Her hand alone held the spear now, and she tightened her grip as she looked upon the carnage at the crest of the valley.

She knelt to give her sister one last kiss as she turned her back on her, and life. Hardening her heart as she opened her wings into flight and decided to seek death for herself.

But death was not easy in coming.

So was too well trained, she could not ignore her instincts or her Valkyrie nature. Even as she plunged into battle, hoping to be struck down, a fire of challenge was lit within her and it burned even as her hope waned. She cut a path easily through the advancing Vanir, even as she saw her own troops dropping back to flee. It was only as she came across a cache of retreated Aesir that she final found her match.

He was burning like a dark flame amongst the dead, his dreadful sword glowing with a bloody red light. He moved like something unnatural, wrong, but frighteningly predatory. Aesir fell before him as he went, scurrying in a desperate attempt to escape his wrath. A small, helmed dwarf tripped before Gwendolyn in his own hurry to flee the monster.

The Shadow Knight.

She had never thought to face him alone, but there was no one by her side now. There would be no one again until her blood ran red on the battlefield. So it was that one of them would not walk free of this encounter today, and in her heart she prayed it would be her loss.

"I will face him!" She screamed over the battle din, pointing the jewelled spear towards him. She was not sure if he would hear her challenge.

The fallen dwarf before her looked up at her in horror. "Princess!? You shall not!"

Gwendolyn ignored him, recklessly following in the Shadow Knight's bloody path. She stopped a short span from where he stood, levelling the point of her weapon at his heart in a clear declaration of intent.

The dark flame of his visage ebbed and he turned to her. He was more man than monster in that moment. Younger than she had expected, his black armour a striking contrast to his white and red hair. He stank of death.

Unwilling to wait for his acceptance of her challenge, she took battle stance and started to circle him. Feinting forward quickly as she sprang into attack, swooping down on him in the familiar Valkyrie battle style. He had seen all of that before. It took him mere seconds to parry the blow, flinging her aside savagely with the force of his sweeping strike. Her wrist was jarred but she held tightly to the spear, throwing herself forcefully towards him again. This time he struck downwards and she hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of her. The difference in power had never been clearer. As she struggled to get up, to take a breath, slowly, too slowly, he leapt atop her and aimed his blade at her delicate throat.

She was not afraid to die.

Still, she had never thought there would be a day that she would be this close to the Shadow Knight, staring up into his face in the moment of her death. It felt strangely intimate, and the odd look in his eyes was almost one of recognition. It seemed to last forever, the only count she could make was the beating of her own heart. Every thump a delay in being reunited with her sister.

"Kill me now!" she cursed, aching to end the agony of living. _Why is he hesitating?_

"How long do you intend to keep me pinned down?" she taunted.

He remained silent, looking down on her anger for a moment longer, his own demeanour unshakably cool. He held her life in his hands and it would be easy, ridiculously easy, for him to end her. Instead, he stood, freeing her from the deadly embrace. As he turned his back on her he flashed like a black flame again, sweeping to strike down an Aesir bear man who had been making a quiet approach. As the man fell in defeat at his feet, he glanced back over his shoulder at Gwendolyn where she lay on the ground, then turned his face away.

"Go on." He told her. "Run away. This battle is over. Any more deaths will just be a waste."

Incredulous, Gwendolyn pushed herself up off of the ground with shaking hands. As she found her feet she looked up to see him already running back into the carnage, leaving her behind, and alive. It was as if he had spat in the face of her need for death.

She turned to see the helmed dwarf clutching her arm with a relieved smile.

"Ooh, I'm glad to see you're safe," he spluttered. "I had feared you were-"

Angrily, she shook him off, tigthening her grip on the spear.

"At this point... I cannot go back," she avowed; pointing her spear angrily at where the Shadow Knight had disappeared into the throng. Humiliation burned in her veins. She would challenge him again, one of them would not leave this battlefield today. As she screamed and turned herself back towards the field, she could hear the little man yelling behind her.

"Princess, wait! But... what good are troops that haven lost their leader?"

She ignored him.

The Shadow Knight, why had he not taken her life? Was it to insult her? Because he knew that to fall in battle was the highest honour for a Valkyrie? He had killed so indiscriminately in the past, why spare a life now?

She faltered, pausing to wonder at the oddity of such a notorious butcher leaving her alive and unharmed. What was it he had he said to her? _This battle is over. Any more deaths will just be a waste._

Taking a deep breath, she stopped. Anger still burned through her body, a song of glory and battle hummed in her head. For the first time since she had entered the battlefield she looked around her.

The Aesir armies were being slaughtered, her peoples armies. They had lost this battle long ago. There had no commanders left on the field, no generals, no one to lead them. There was no one to even order their retreat. Her people ran, but they were not free of the battle. They had nowhere to run to without a command to fall back. They were dying all around her without cause, frightened and desperate, while she selfishly sought the death they fought against.

In that moment she realised how pitiable she was. How could death in these circumstances grant her honour or respect? She could not join her sister like this, it was shameful, she was a disgrace. How could she be feeling so sorry for herself, seeking death so stubbornly when her people needed her? Yes, she was a Valkyrie, but she was also a princess of this nation. These were her people and they needed her.

She took another breath and it caught in her chest. Her eyes stung as she beheld the losses laid before her. The oxygen in her lungs built until it could do nothing but escape in a burst.

"Escape!" she screamed as loudly as she could. "Retreat!" She raised her spear into the sky like a beacon. "Retreat!"

Around her the sounds of the battle seemed to dim. Slowly, as if waking from a dream, the broken army started to draw together around her, ready to follow. She accepted the position of leader, a burden she well deserved for her prior abandonment. As she began to run back towards the Ragnanival borders, shouting for her people to follow, the crowd behind her built and so too did her strength of will. This was true strength, she would not find her answer at the end of the Shadow Knight's blade. She had responsibilities to fulfil in Griselda's place.

She tried not to blame herself for the casualties.

Regardless of the number who had fled with her their army was decimated. If she had pulled the troops earlier then perhaps some of the damage would have been mitigated, but it was too late for regrets. Some lives had been saved, some only barely, and she was grateful she'd shaken off her grief for long enough for at least this much.

Even so, as she paused in the entranceway of the throne room she hesitated. She had no glad tidings for her father. The bad news was twofold, loss of the battle and a daughter. She felt her throat close up as she stepped inside the room, which suddenly seemed unbearably cold.

King Odin sat in his throne, glancing up to frown at his daughter as she entered.

"Gwendolyn, you've returned."

She felt her mouth go dry as she forced her chapped lips to speak the words she knew would make him unhappy.

"I have an announcement, Your Majesty." Even with her parched mouth she tried to swallow. "Regarding the invasion... our troops have been lost. The foes had more reinforcements than we had anticipated." She looked up at her father but was unable to make out any hint of emotion on his face. "We were forced to enter a battle of attrition… The Valkyries suffered many casualties... including Griselda, our commander."

It had been almost impossible to say her sister's name aloud. She felt tears prickle her eyes, her throat swollen from trying not to show weakness before her father. It had been a glorious death for her sister.

She heard her father take a heavy breath.

"I know of Griselda's fate," he told her.

Gwendolyn nodded, clearing her throat and trying to blink her eyes to dryness.

"She… Griselda fought bravely for you… to the very end..."

Gwendolyn gripped her sister's jewelled spear tightly in her hand. "She entrusted me with this spear in her final moments."

King Odin's eyes flicked to the spear and then back to the daughter that now held it. Gwendolyn wondered if he was thinking of Griselda standing there in her place.

"She was the most gallant and noble of all my warriors," he admitted.

She drew a painful smile. If only her sister could have been here to finally hear him speak of her with such admiration and pride. It made her feel so conflicted to know that Griselda would have died just a little bit happier if she could have only heard their father's kind words sooner.

"That spear is a special weapon known as a Psypher," continued Odin. "It collects spirits that haunt the battlefields and uses their power to smite enemies."

Gwendolyn glanced up at the spear she was holding doubtfully. It was magnificent, but what did that matter? It could never replace her sister, and neither could she.

"Henceforth, you shall wield the spear as you please..." Her father stood from his throne and his cape caught the breeze, billowing fearfully around him. He spared his daughter another brief glance as he strode past her, his plated armour rattling as he made to exit the room. Stopping at the door he considered her at length. "We shall launch another assault on the enemy. I shall personally take part in this battle. Send the troops when you're prepared."

Gwendolyn felt as if he had struck her. He spoke of a weapon, and more war, but had barely offered a kind word for her sister. Was this his grief? Did he not want to mourn her? To bring her body back from the battleground? To hold ceremony for her? Instead he was merely asking Gwendolyn to take her place, as if it were no more than a vacant position to be filled.

"Father" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Is that all you have to say about Griselda!?"

Coldly, King Odin turned towards his remaining Valkyrie daughter. "Words will not bring your sister back."

She felt the first warm tear spill across her cheek and furiousy wiped it away. Disgusted by the shameful display of weakness, her father turned his back on her.

"'Tis no time for sentimentality," he sneered as he marching from the chamber. Leaving her alone in the throne room with her grief.

She watched him go, feeling as if all the blood had been drained from her body and she was now just a husk. It was lucky, really. If she had not felt so frozen in place her knees would surely have buckled and betrayed any remaining strength of will. When she did move again it was to angrily dash the remaining tears from her cheeks, breathing in and out deeply to regain her composure.

She tried to make her determination stony, as her father's obviously was. To find some inner will to at least make it back to her room before she crumbled. Her legs were shaky as she followed in his path, swallowing her tears.

She made her way slowly down the long marble passages towards her chamber, stopping every now and again to lean against a pillar and close her eyes, eventually finding the fortitude to continue on each time towards her room.

During one such lapse a young Valkyrie swooped in through the open space beside her, startling her and almost making her lose the balance of her marble support. The girl did not seem to notice the loss of countenance.

"Princess!" she reported, breathlessly. "We shall regroup with those able to fight. At the moment I have four soldiers ready. Just say the word."

Gwendolyn looked into her eager face, feeling sick. _Four have already prepared to re-enter battle?_ _We only have half the troops we started with all up… Everyone is rushing to their deaths._

Even the Shadow Knight had known that her troops should have withdrawn, even he had thought the loss of life was a waste. Yet here were her own people ready to repeat that same mistake, sacrificing themselves, and for what? A glorious death? Their losses forgotten for another turn at carnage each day? Gwendolyn's heart was already sick with misery and despair. How culd she stand this?

She couldn't even find an answer for the young Valkyrie, she simply stumbled onwards towards her goal. The solace of her room was no longer just a desire, but a desperate need.

When she finally found her way to the eyrie staircase, she paused. On any other day she would fly up to her room atop the spire and land on the balcony, entering through her glass doors. Today, however, was not any other day, and the very thought of opening her wings again made her feel exhausted. Instead, she started the unfamiliar passage up the spiral staircase. She was only a few steps into her journey when she caught sight of her maid, Myris, on her way down them.

The pooka looked up at her with tears glistening unshed in her furry lashes.

"Oh, thank goodness," she smiled, relieved, "You've made it back safely."

Gwendolyn looked at the somewhat dishevelled state of her usually pert maid.

"…Did you…did you hear…" she found she could not find more words to make sense of the preceding sentence.

_Dead… my sister is dead._

The furry creature closed the gap between them, touching her tiny paw to the Valkyrie's own hand. The action was more than enough to let Gwendolyn know that she had already heard the news.

"Princess Gwendolyn... I'm worried about you, please… stay strong."

"… Thank you Myris," replied Gwendolyn dully.

"I shall bring some tea up to your room later."

Gwendolyn simply nodded, slipping past her to continue the passage upwards to her sanctuary.

It was a task to find her room amongst many. All of the doors were unfamiliar to her and it had been so long since she had entered by the front entrance. It took several mistaken ventures into dusty, unused rooms before she found her own abode. There was a rosy fire already alight in the grate there, a touch of Myris's, no doubt, and fresh silk sheets draped lavishly across the bed. She fell into them, bunching them tightly as she let the psypher spear fall forgotten to the ground.

There she finally crumbled.

She railed, screamed, tore at the sheets. She cried until she was dried out and empty, for hours, for half the night or longer, it was impossible to tell with the eternal turning of stars wheeling in the permanent night sky. Eventually, when she was sure her grief would finally tear her in two, she fell into an exhausted sleep and knew nothing more but the dark.

Later, she couldn't say how much later, she woke with a dry mouth and a pounding head. She had slept in her armour, as she had always teased her sister for wanting to do.

_Griselda._

The night had not taken the sharp edge off of her heartbreak.

Still, she was alive and must continue to live. Her people needed her in this dark time, her father would need her in time.

Untangling herself from the bed sheets, she noticed a tray on her bedside table. it was set with a cup, saucer and a little teapot, now long gone cold. She swallowed the lump in her throat. It was just another day, just another fight. She must at least try.

She quickly washed her face in the basin of fresh water and tightened her armour. She was not sure what time it was, but doubtless she was long overdue for battle. There would be no time to bathe properly. What was the point when she was heading out for further battle? She would be covered in blood and dirt soon enough.

Regretfully, she picked her sister's spear up off the floor, rubbing the jewelled tip with a careful hand to ensure that she had not cracked it in her haste to be rid of it. It really was an exceptional weapon, and it was all she had left of her sister now. Holding it tightly, she made her way out onto the wide balcony which adjoined the bedroom, breathing in the heady air that was only found at such heights. Leaving herself little more time to wallow in her grief, she clutched the spear tightly in her hand and dove from the edge of the parapet, soaring in a wide arc to land gracefully in the commons area of the palace below.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, she looked up to see the young Valkyrie she had met earlier in the hall now watching her expectantly. Making her way across the room to meet her, she tried to remember how she might act on any other given day.

"Hello," she greeted, "pray, tell me, what is your name? I failed to ask you for it earlier."

The young woman trembled with eagerness. "I am Aislinn, princess."

"Aislinn then," smiled Gwendolyn. "We're moving out, now! Inform the troops."

The young woman bobbed a quick curtsy and then ran halfway down the hallway in her excitement, remembering before she made it any further that she had wings and should use them. As Gwendolyn watched the flash of blue and teal feathers, she tightened her grip on the psypher spear again, looking out into the circle of stars above. Her own feathers were still matted with her sister's blood.

"Griselda..."

As she felt the tightness in her chest threaten to double her over, she realised she was now all alone in the room.

No, not quite alone, not far from her hovered a tiny blue bird, and Gwendolyn glanced over at it curiously.

"So you're going to battle in order to win your father's love," it chirped.

Gwendolyn stared at it, confused and angry. "That's not true. I'm fighting for my kingdom and my own pride," she argued. "If I fall in battle..." She paused, thinking of her sister lying bloody in the sand under these same Ragnanival stars. She took an unsteady breath. "That is a fate all my countrymen must face."

"Don't try to hide the truth from me," mocked the bird. "You seek death, so that you may earn the love you so desperately seek."

"Quiet!" she shouted, angrily striking at the bird. It easily avoided the blow, as if it had already predicted it.

"I am but a phantom," it chirped. "I represent your innermost thoughts." The creature swooped to flutter just behind her, speaking directly into her ear: "'I am pathetic. I've never been loved since the day I was born.'"

_That's not true… no… it's not true._

"Giving your life for your father will not make your death worthwhile. You will simply die, like Griselda died."

Gwendolyn sank to her knees weakly, losing all the composure she had found since waking.

"Stop it!" she begged, feeling tears build again behind her eyes. The bird of her heart fluttered mercilessly before her, unseen by all but she. It watched her with knowing eyes.

"If I sacrifice myself for my duty, Father will surely show his love for me," she sobbed. Gwendolyn wasn't willing to admit to the thing that she feared the most. She couldn't find the courage to face the idea that only one person in this world had ever truly loved her, and that she was now gone.

"Surely..."

The bird of her heart watched her with sorrowful eyes, but said nothing more.


	5. Doubt and Decent

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Oswald tied a knot in the belt sheath around his waist. Again.

It was the third knot in a row now, one on top of the other, each becoming successively less necessary. As he fingered the bindings to add to the number yet again, he paused.

He was all too aware of his own distraction.

Odin's Witch.

For days now his thoughts had been drawn to her. Even now, waiting outside of Melvin's study, he could not shake her from his mind.

It was no small wonder. He knew it would be a great victory for the Vanir if she were struck down, yet now he had let not one, but two opportunities pass him by.

How close had he been to ending her on the Raging Battlefield? Yet it had been by mindless mistake that his sword had found her throat. It was only as the pulse in her neck hammered beneath his blade that he had recognised her.

Gone was the dress that had drawn her father's antipathy. It had been replaced by hardened armour, and it was as if all of the softness had been hammered from both girl and metal in its forging. Her previously tear filled eyes were now resolute, determined. Star spun hair was tightly pinned in place, revealing the hollow of her throat, the curve of her neck where his blade now rested. Her wings were bloodied and bent beneath her, constrained by the combined weight of both of their bodies as she lay awaiting his judgment.

As the conflicting impressions of Gwendolyn, Ragnanival's princess, and Odin's Witch, a Valkyrie warrior, converged in his mind, he felt as if he reached a deeper level of understanding of the Aesir's winged warriors.

He had always felt a level of kinship with the Valkyrie forces, even though they were his enemy. He had felt that the parallel in their dual nature had been comparable to his own. Both were drawn to killing and excelled in it. Both were lost when a lust for battle was upon them, slaves to a dark desire for blood and butchery. However, it was only in that moment, blade poised in hand, that he had seen the nature of his own lie. A farce forced upon him by a cursed blade. In Gweondolyn's eyes he could perceive true passion, as if a song rang out in the quiet, heralding the cry of battle.

She was a creature who was both soft and sharp at once. A flame, warm and comforting, but which threatened to scorch when stoked. Somehow he couldn't bear the thought of extinguishing that intimidating spark, and he had felt the sword in his hand tremble when looking down upon her.

The battle had been in Vanir's favour that day. Not that it had been any excuse to allow her to live, and yet that was exactly what he had found himself doing. He himself had known it was no small matter to raise his blade and offer truce. An enemy was an enemy, and an enemy kingdoms princess, even more so. Thus, even as he had brought news of his mission's success, and Ragnanival's search for the cauldron, to his waiting father, he had made no mention of the girl. Along with Brom's betrayal this was the second secret he had kept from Melvin, and his heart was sick with it.

As he ran his hands across his excessively secured scabbard, mostly to keep his fingers from searching out the blue feather tucked into his tunic, the study doors opened before him.

Queen Elfaria stepped out of the room, her cheeks flushed and her brow furrowed. Oswald ducked a hasty bow, listening as his foster father's voice chased her into the corridor.

"Please forgive my insolence. I care too much for you. Not as a retainer, but as family. I spoke too frankly."

The queen glowered through the doorway, and Oswald wondered what had passed between them to make them argue so. As she turned to leave, refusing to respond to Melvin's entreaty, Oswald could hear the squeak of Melvin's chair beyond the doors. Seconds later he and his foster father were face to face in the doorway.

"That woman fails to see the whole picture," Melvin spat, observing the queen's retreat down the passageway through narrowed eyes. "So full of naive ideas, why can't she understand that the Psypher is absolutely necessary to battle the Demon Lord?"

_So it is the Belderiver again that brings discord between them_?

Oswald waited patiently as Melvin's anger visibly seethed. He had come to take his leave of the castle to seek the battlefield again, yet perhaps Melvin's agenda would no longer allow that? Politics were heavy in the air today; it seemed that his foster father may never succeed in bringing the queen around on the issue of Psypher weapons.

Melvin steepled his fingers and let out a heavy sigh, glancing up as if noticing his son's presence for the first time.

"Oswald! Are you on your way?"

The young man smiled grimly. "Yes..."

"You must demonstrate the overwhelming power of that sword," he instructed. "Now more than ever Queen Elfaria needs to see its supremacy in action."

Oswald nodded, placing an arm across his chest as he bowed to him. What would the queen's thoughts have been if his Psypher blade had struck down Ragnanival's princess? Had staying his hand been an act of treason? Of course it had, he'd been a foolish half-wit to let such prey escape him alive. What would Melvin say if he knew of it? His heart quailed at the very thought. He had let her go, and for what?

"Kill many and make no mistakes," smiled his foster father, unaware of his son's inner conflict.

Oswald shouldered the heavy burden of his guilt. He would leave the confines of the castle walls and seek out the battlefield. Killing, after all, was the one thing he knew how to do. It was little recompense for his past folly, yet it was all the apology he could manage. He would take more lives and feed the greedy blade at his side. He would demonstrate the swords authority through the methods still available to him. Yet, even as he strode towards the castle boundary, a vision of burning, violet eyes haunted him.

He struggled to find a scrap of peace within himself to elude the image, listening to the rattle of his armoured boots as he made his way down the ivory passages. As he was rounding a passage corner, inattentive as he fought against such memories, he failed to prevent himself from barrelling into someone who was approaching from the other side. He fought to keep his balance during the collision, his feet automatically assuming a battle stance.

"Ah!" exclaimed a tiny fairy, her plaited, double braids bouncing up and down as she looked up at him with wide eyes. It took her only a moment to regain her footing, fairies being very well balanced. She glanced back over her shoulder at a pursuing Lillipat male who was fast on her heels.

"Drat," she muttered.

"Princess Mercedes! He called. "Will you really be heading to the battlefield?"

The young princess sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Not an unsurprising act of inelegance for this particular princess.

"Of course, I need to prove my worth as a leader to my mother," she replied, flattening her hair down hastily.

Oswald was now all too aware of his current battle stance over her. Not only had he very nearly knocked down Mercedes, queen Elfaria's daughter and the heir to the throne. He was now looming above her in a suggestively aggressive manner. He was also rapidly losing his chance to apologise for it.

Her royal aid, Matthew, had clearly witnessed the whole scene while giving chase. Yet neither party were paying him any heed, nor did they seem particularly bothered by it.

Matthew sagged and wiped his sweaty brow, completely out of breath. "But did she not command you to stay behind and look after the castle?" he gasped. "That is also a leader's job."

Princess Mercedes brushed herself off and gave her aid a disdainful look. Not waiting for his recovery, she gave him a quick pat on the back and then took off down the corridor again with surprising speed.

"Have Melvin sit here and hold the fort," she yelled cheekily over her shoulder as she went.

Matthew stomped his foot angrily, an exasperated expression on his face. With a resigned sigh he was soon plodding along after her.

Oswald found that he was still stuck between a request for forgiveness and an apology, neither yet voiced aloud, as the pair disappeared from sight.

The whirlwind that was princess Mercedes. It was not the first time that he had encountered it. He had always thought that it was a pity that Melvin would not be heir to the kingdom. Still, the girl was young, and however precocious she might be now there was still time for her to grow up. Queen Elfaria still had a long life ahead of her, and there would be time for her to teach her unruly daughter decorum and etiquette, or so he hoped. At least her unrestrained nature had stopped her from paying his presence much heed.

Oswald unfroze his feet from their defensive positioning and made his way out into the quiet of the castle gardens. He walked their length, conscious that it was not the fastest path to the Raging Battlefield; it was, however, the most pleasant. The moon lilies were letting off a crisp, fresh scent under their heavenly mothers light. He found himself leaning down towards their glowing petals, reminded again of the Valkyrie girl when he beheld them. Odin's Witch, Ragnanival's princess.

Gwendolyn.

His fingers traced the place against his chest where he had tucked away her feather. It was an odd memento. He could not say why he had even kept it, only that the thought of throwing it away made him feel wretched. Standing before the incandescent moon lilies, he took one last, heady breath of their soothing perfume. With that last comfort he turned his towards the shadow darkened forest, and the Raging Battlefield beyond it.

The battlefield was warm in the twilight. As if all the blood spilt there during the escalating skirmishes had heated the earth and made the surrounding air sticky and humid with death.

Oswald wondered if such soil would remain forever barren, scarred by loss of life even in vegetation. Perhaps instead it would thrive on the daily fertilisers which were provided to it with that loss. His life was such that there would always be a sword in his hand. Perhaps that was why growing things seemed so curious to him? The idea of nurturing something fragile and alive held an alien sort of fascination. Taking a life was easy, cultivating one was surely less so.

Wiping his brow, he continued to the foot of the valley below. He had left the melee for now, weary and sore from the fighting. He had seen Queen Elfaria join the battle but knew that in his current state he'd be of little assistance to her. The Belderiver had bled him of his energy, he had even felt his sanity begin to flag as he drew more and more upon its dark urges. He must take a brief break before returning to the carnage, that or be overtaken by its power.

He stumbled slightly as loose soil slid away beneath his feet, fighting to find his footing. As he fought for balance, it seemed almost as if his shadow danced across the ground before him of its own accord. He hesitated, wondering if his vision was blurred from exhaustion or if he had simply imagined it. Watching the dark shape now it was still and lifeless, yet something in the charged air seemed unfamiliar and dangerous.

Feeling an odd prickling against his skin, Oswald leapt back just as a dark shade appeared before him. It undulated like liquid darkness, forming and reforming again and again, neither shadow nor human. The inky creature was bare chested and seemingly male, its heavy cowl seeping with icy vapour. Oswald realised that the air was now frigid in its presence. In one hand it held a transparent crystal, in the other an ominous scythe. Where its feet should have been there was only a dark cloud, like some black spirit had risen from the earth, called forth by the death surrounding it.

Oswald took a single step back, feeling his legs lock beneath him and the Belderiver pulse with expectant energy at his side. Could this be a Halja? He had heard tales of the black souls that escaped the Netherworld, rising up to the lands of the living. He had never expected to see such a thing for himself.

As he unconsciously reached for his blade, he was assaulted by a whispery voice which seemed to trickle directly into his head.

"...Oswald... Dedicate your life to death and darkness..."

He shook his head, as if to free himself from the temptation of listening. It felt like his mind had been fouled. How could any creature reach straight past ones mental defences to speak so directly? It was more than unpleasant, it was disturbing. There was the sensation of something fluid leaking through his head, filled with suggestive impulses.

"Who are you?" He spat, finding anger was his first response to any attack, even one on his senses.

Frosty air seethed from the hood of the dark spirit.

"I take the Chosen to the Netherworld. People see me in their last moments and wail... Death..."

_Death, so this is a Halja?_ Oswald massaged his temples with his fingertips. He dare not draw his sword yet, could one even strike down a spirit? Had the smell of rotting corpses attracted it to this place?

The Halja dissipated and reformed again. "A contract binds your life to the hands of Queen Odette of the Netherworld."

Oswald felt the breath he has half taken catch in his throat, his fingers stopped in place. "What? A contract? I know of no such contract."

The Halja chuckled, an eerie sound, dry and breathless. "You act as if you own the darkness," it accused. "Only those bound to death have that power."

Oswald felt the Belderiver throb at his side with its usual, insistent pull. Only now there was something different about it, or perhaps it was simply that something which had always been present was now more obvious. The energy it was emitting swirled, insatiable yet invisble, and he could feel that the oppressive force was more than just similar to that of the Halja hovering before him. It was the same.

"Why do you think that is?" mocked the Halja. "Why do you think you have been given such power?"

It paused, as if pleased with it's own questioning, yet it's tone was never particular to any emotion. "A certain man pledged your life in exchange for the lethal power in that sword."

Oswald felt hot bile rise in his throat.

"No."

Yet even as he denied the claim he didn't feel convinced by his own rejection. Who was he but some foundling, unaccepted and unappreciated in the world. Hadn't he always known that this sword was wrong in some way?

He stared the Halja down, as if urging it to admit to its own falsehood. "It couldn't have been Melvin..."

Hearing the words aloud worked to calm him some, as if they were a mantra which could undo the horrible claim. His foster father was all he'd ever had; he had respected and loved him, killed for him. He had earned admiration and respect by fulfilling his wishes. There was no way that he had been used as some tool to aid his cause. Melvin just wasn't like that.

"You're a liar," he accused.

He felt the wash of power as both the Belderiver and the overbearing presence of the Halja seemed to vibrate as a single being. As if both were angered.

"The time has come," insinuated the Halja, its voice still uncannily liquid in his head. "What gives you power is already rotting away at your mind and body. Now, as the contract has deemed, give me your soul."

Oswald's fists clenched as intense waves of malevolence rolled of off his sheathed blade. His fingers ached as he prised them open, one at a time, reaching for the handle of his sword as the Halja raised the scythe above it's head. He didn't know if the sword would have any effect, or if he could even attack and kill such a being, but surely if any weapon could do it damage it would be one forged in its own power?

He had barely managed to clasp the sword in his shaking hand before he was forced to leap backward and away from the downward swing of the wraith's sickle. There was no place to hide in this fight, no safe distance from harm, in the blink of an eye his opponent could vanish and reappear within his striking zone.

Oswald was already weary. The Belderiver hummed in his hand and his head felt foggy and unfocused. He tried to find some sort of method to his opponent's attacks. They were almost a reverse of those displayed by a Valkyrie. Instead of skyward attacks with a diving motion, the Halja would appear beneath him to sweep upwards, just below his guard. There was no timing to it, no other predictive factor but the direction, still, it was something. He simply had to hope that his senses did not dull further, that the rush of air preceding a strike would always pre-empt an incursion.

He landed some blows, but was unsure of whether they did him good or ill. Each strike weakened him more than the wraith it seemed, and each time he felt he might have gained ground, the Halja would vanish, summoning the dead from the surrounding mass graves to distract Oswald from the fight. Soon Oswald felt himself slipping, and the throbbing in his head which kept time with the blade in his hand increased in fervour. The shadow was upon him, and it was less restrained now than it had ever been.

Rather than feeling the dark surge wash over him as it had in the past, this time he felt himself slip inside of it, lost. His mind seemed to open, letting the darkness rush in like a raging tide. It soon overwhelmed anything bright and pure that had remained within him, consciously or unconsciously. He felt his hope washing away, love, patience, pride. Everything was sucked up, balled together into a blur of dark fury and madness which burned inside of his heavy limbs. It seemed as if he lay within a darkened room, motionless. Yet he could feel the muscles in his arms and legs tense and snap, his fingers tighten on the swords handle as blows connected with his target, all of it at some dream-like distance.

Just as it began to seem like the darkness was everything, and that he was no more than a part of that everything, he felt some last thread of his resolve pull taut and hold him in place. His consciousness was vague and muddled, but he was still himself. He was not just some vessel for the Belderiver's dark desires. He was Oswald, he had a father, someone who trusted and relied on him. He had a task to perform.

In the murky nebula of the shadow, he moved a heavy hand. His hand. Fingers inched forward, recognising his command but delayed in their response to comply with it. He fought harder. This was his body, and he'd be damned if he'd give it up so easily. With an aching slowness he reached inside of his tunic, brushing his hand against the feather keepsake he had treasured there.

There again was that memory of a violet gaze, passionate and pure, deadly. It had surely led him to this moment, his foolish act of mercy had brought him here. But he could only move forward now.

He focused on the guilt he had felt for his actions, the shame of keeping his mistake from his father. He focused on the task he'd been given in wielding the might of the Belderiver for glory. So what if the blade was rage and anger and darkness, so what if it had overcome him? He simply needed to go deeper into that shadow to have it submit to him once more.

He focused on those negative feelings, turning his anger inwards, towards the girl with the violet eyes and the star spun hair. A cold fury eased over him as he thought of his forest burning at her command. Moon lilies trampled under her armoured feet, the phozons sucked from the land to leave it barren and dead, just like the battlefield where he had last encountered her. Death could still find the Ragnanival princess. Oswald could still find her.

As his negative emotions grew, his awareness and sense of self improved. His vision sharpened and blood pumped furiously in his veins, and soon he came to understand where he was and what he was doing. As he surveyed the field before him, now empty of any evidence of the wraith he had encountered, the Belderiver purred in his hand.

Something had broken inside of him. Something was irretrievably stained. To overcome the Belderiver he had become darker even than the shadow it held within it. He was truly the master of the blade now, and he could feel its acceptance of him.

He let himself go cold, refusing to think on the implications behind this new bond.

Melvin.

He was living for that person alone, he trusted only him. That was what he must focus on. He had always said that he'd dedicated his life to his foster father in the past, it was time for him to finally prove it.

All his exhaustion was gone now; his whole body was fired by dark energy and sharply honed for battle. Yet, as he made his way confidently back towards the battleground, he found it oddly empty. Just how long had he been in a fugue state? Remnants of the battle remained, but there were no troops fighting, no horns sounding either battle or retreat.

A chilling premonition washed over him, a horrible realisation. He began to run, faster than any normal man might in such heavy armour. The dark power fuelled him as he left the Raging Battlefield and charged through the forest towards Ringford. Everywhere there was evidence of an armies' march, that was hardly unfamiliar, yet his stomach twisted sickeningly with the feeling that something was wrong about it.

This time no sentry found him to bar the way. It was only as he burst into the courtyard of the Ringford Gardens that he understood why. Just as he had imagined in his darkest moment, the garden lay in ruin.

The moon lilies were bruised and broken on the ground, their pure white petals trampled into the mud and ruined. The gardens perfume was overlaid with the scent of sweat, blood and a tang of heated metal. The usual twilight glow of the garden seemed dismal and weak now, empty. Everything was in silence. It was as if he had already missed his chance to stop this, to fight, to protect this place. His mouth hardened as he stared at the evidence of the broken flowers laid out before him, as recognition finally dawned. It was too late, he was too late. Whatever had happened was now past. Even his dark awakening could not turn back the hands of the clock.

Coldness clamped down on his heart as he strode into the empty castle, looking for any sign of life in the usually bustling hallways. The crowded space usually made him feel sick as he preferred his solitude, but now it produced the opposite effect. It seemed the fighting had not been as bad within the palace walls, but why? Had they pushed the enemy back or withdrawn? Had they been taken prisoner? His mouth was dry when he finally stumbled into the Central Chamber and found his foster father, waiting.

His head sagged, equally relief and despair. "Melvin."

His father's eyes were bright coals in his head, filled with fury.

"You!" he screamed. "What are you doing!? Where have you been?"

He approached Oswald aggressively, practically spitting his words as he went. "While you've been loafing, the Aesir have invaded!"

Oswald felt a pang on hearing his fears confirmed. Invaded. The Aesir had come here and crushed their forces. How had their defences been so easily decimated?

Melvin threw up his hands in disgust. "As you can see, we have been utterly defeated. Queen Elfaria has been killed."

The Belderiver stirred at Oswald's side, awoken by the animosity which was building in the room. He felt his ears ringing as his father continued to shout. He could hardly blame him. The queen was dead, Melvin's kin. He had seen her on the battlefield before he had blacked out. Had she died there, or here? Could he have prevented it? What was to become of the Ringford now?

Melvin turned on his heel, facing away from his son and lowering his voice. "My reputation is ruined..."

It was Oswald's fault. He hadn't been here to stop any of this. His father had lost face , the kingdom had been sieged, the queen killed, and it had all started when he had lost sight of his goal. One Valkyrie might not have caused this, but the death of one might have prevented it.

"I apologize," he choked out weakly, knowing it did nothing whatsoever to even begin repairing the damage.

"Stay put, you idiot," Melvin spat. His wings whipped back and forth in an agitated motion as he stepped away from his son.

"Melvin... the Halja came for me."

It was Oswald's only entreaty against his father's anger.

Silence stretched out between the pair.

It was the only vindication Oswald could offer him. Although he was certainly to blame for this, it had, after all, been his foolishness which had created this path; his delay had still been out of his control. It had been caused by the wraith who had visited him just as much as by the sword which had tried to overpower him.

The fairy commander stared at the ground for a long time before he turned back to face his son. "All parents want their children to be powerful," he told him." In your case… I succeeded."

Oswald felt his mouth tighten some. It wasn't that he doubted Melvin's intentions, it was just that he'd stated it in such a matter of fact way. He had almost expected to hear him deny any connection, the confirmation gave him pause.

"In fact," continued his father, "you have the power to keep the Halja at bay." He smiled reassuringly, placing a hand on Oswald's shoulder. "Do not worry. You must trust me, Oswald."

Staring up into his father's eyes, he felt they were clear of recrimination now, and he felt suitably reproached in turn. The power of the Belderiver had been for his own benefit, it was a danger that his father had known he could manage. If Melvin said he could cope with the Halja, then it must be the case. His own father would not lie to him... surely.

As he opened his mouth to speak again, the thought was soon lost as the young fairy princess – now queen - zoomed into the room, landing heavily between them.

"Melvin!" she shrieked, but the anger was soon lost to sobs as she broke down in front of him. "How could this happen? This can't be real, it can't be true." She grabbed his hands in a plea, as if he could banish her fears with his reassurance.

He placed a compassionate hand on her head. "Princess Mercedes..."

The sound of her name seemed to reignite her fervour, and she soon stood again, as solid as ever. "Where were the royal guards!?" she demanded. "You said I could leave everything to you!"

She slapped away his hand and glared balefully up at her uncle. "What exactly _were_ you doing?" she yelled. "Why did you not protect my mother?"

"What happened is indeed most unfortunate," he agreed. "I am not surprised you are emotional."

The princess gave him an incredulous look, as if disbelieving that he could simply shrug off her pain as an emotional display.

"Queen Elfaria made for a prominent target," he explained. "'Tis a shame we could not save her."

"A shame?" she bristled.

Chiding her, as if she was no more than a small child, which was relatively true, Melvin placed his hand atop her head again. "Do not worry. From this point on, I shall assist Princess Mercedes in resuscitating the country."

Oswald could see the girl swallow deeply as if it took some effort. When she looked up at her uncle again there were still tears in her eyes, but she took a decisive step backwards and away from his hand. She angled her face defiantly towards him as she replied.

"I am the princess no longer, but the queen now," she reminded him. "And I may not find it necessary to ask you for assistance."

It was barely a whisper of a reply, but there was a decisiveness in her tone which brooked no argument. With a single flick of her wings she cast a final eye over her relative, before leaving him behind to contemplate her words. She was seemingly a far different girl leaving the room than she had been on entering it. The different between a princess and a queen, indeed.

"Hmph... You are indeed arrogant, little queenling," huffed Melvin. He shrugged. "If Elfaria had listened to my advice, she would have survived the battle."

Oswald knew he was referring to the Psypher weapons again, and felt the weight of his own conscience that he could not have given more influence in displaying their necessity for the war effort.

Melvin sighed, running an absent hand through his hair. "The Cauldron has been seized..."

Oswald's neck snapped up. So the Aesir had achieved their ultimate goal? But what of the key which controlled it? Had the knowledge of it died with Elfaria? Oswald knew that once he'd reported the Aesir's plans to capture the cauldron the queen had hidden the key. She was fearful that if the kingdom was taken the cauldron would be used, and her people would die in the process. Could Odin have found that key? If so, they were on the brink of even greater disasters.

The hand Melvin had been running through his hair was hiding his face when Oswald glanced at him again. "How can we entrust our destiny to a lass who knows absolutely nothing?" he grumbled, sweeping his locks back furiously and tapping his foot on the ground.

He paused. Slowly, his face began to change, as if some revelation had just found him and was now unfolding in his mind.

"...Wait," he mused. "This is a turning point..." He smiled at Oswald, a terrible grin. "Royalty is handed down as judgement of the gods." He turned and looked at where the princess, now queen, had just recently made her exit.

"The crown still awaits its perfect master..."

As Oswald saw a shadow of Melvin's own making slip over his father, he knew that he, too, fell under it. For this was the man he had chosen to follow, and he would follow him until death.

* * *

Thanks for the reviews so far, keep them coming. They make Oswald stronger so he can enforce faster updates :)


	6. Family Ties

Sorry for the long wait everyone - will try to get the next one up faster. Thanks for the reviews!

Gwendolyn wiped sweat from her forehead as she watched the last of the vanguard secure any remaining Vanir troops who has survived the skirmish. It had been a difficult feat to split their army and find success both on the field and in the enemies own grounds, but somehow even with their dwindling numbers they had managed it. It was her father's brilliant leadership that had done it. He had struck queen Elfaria with such force that she had been driven from the field. Their escape had been shadowed by Gwendolyn private guards, who had invaded Ringford castle even as Elfaria sought shelter there and captured the cauldron at last.

_This war is over._

With the cauldron her father could finally realise his dream of mass creating psypher weapons. The Aesir would rule unchallenged, her father would expand their territory exponentially.

Gwendolyn tried not to think about what this might mean for her people. More war? Surely it was enough that her father could be proud of this triumph, that she had proven herself to him, finally. She wondered if her sister would be proud of this victory. She herself had felt oddly conflicted to see the mighty fairy queen flee the battle, bloodied and torn.

Staring at the other broken bodies littering the field she began to walk back towards the castle. She didn't want to look at this carnage surrounding her, some of which she was responsible for, it was distasteful to her. There was a bad taste in her mouth, one that needed washing away, and she couldn't help but feel like it was the metallic tang of blood thick on her tongue.

"Princess Gwendolyn!" someone called, forcing her to end the dedicated study of her feet.

An eager Valkyrie maiden with teal wings ducked a low bow in greeting.

"Aislinn," nodded Gwendolyn. "I am glad to see you have returned from Ringford safely."

The girl smiled. "I have, and I have news."

"Of my father?"

"No, of the queen."

For a moment Gwendolyn almost had the ridiculous notion that Aislinn might be referring to her own mother, but of course that made no sense, she could only be speaking of the fairy queen.

"She suffered grave injuries," Gwendolyn agreed.

"She is dead," Aislinn reported.

It was like a punch in the gut. Gwendolyn reeled for a moment, thinking of Elfaria's weak visage as her aides had rushed her from the battlefield.

"Dead?" She heard herself say. The word seemed foreign to her mouth, which was the biggest irony of all.

"Yes, she escaped from your father's blows only to die from the wounds he had inflicted on the floor of her own palace. Running away like a cowardly moth did her no good."

Gwendolyn nodded and felt her throat constrict as she tried to swallow.

Do you know where my father... Where I may find the King?" She croaked.

Aislinn gave her an odd look; obviously she had expected that her news would gain a better reception than to be brushed aside. "The King is with the Crystallization Cauldron." She gave a vague gesture of direction with the swing of her spear.

"I see. Thank you."

Gwendolyn tried to keep her back straight and her neck up this time as she started off in the direction Aislinn had suggested. It wouldn't do to avert her eyes in front of her troops, or her king for that matter. When she glanced back over her shoulder she saw that Aislinn was watching her with a curious expression on her face. Her cheeks burned with humiliation.

_I am not myself, where did my resolve go? This war killed my sister; of course we must win it. The queen is just one of those casualties. I should be celebrating this outcome with the troops._

Still her heart could not find peace and she hoped it did not show upon her face. Perhaps it was just as her sister has said, she wasn't made for the harsh reality of war.

She was thrown from her musing as a woman clad in red crossed her path and stopped abruptly before her to prevent their collision.

"What!?" Yelled Gwendolyn, and was embarrassed by her own surprise and outcry.

This woman was clearly not of her kingdom, but neither did she look to be a fairy. She was dressed almost like an exotic dancer, draped in red satin. A hood partially covered her face and long, coiled blond tresses peeked out of it on either side, one of which was part unravelled. She was breathing hard and stared almost wildly at Gwendolyn.

_Who?_

Regaining her senses Gwendolyn gripped her spear tightly.

"Who goes there? What are you doing here?"

The girl shifted on her feet and wet her lips nervously. A frown creased her brow and her face hardened as she spoke.

"These stupid battles, all over again... The Cauldron is a source of disaster." He eyes shone with a determined light. "I will not allow the Crystallization Cauldron to be used any further." Taking a forceful step forward she approached, and Gwendolyn almost felt an unnatural desire to back down from the pressure she exuded. "Not by you... nor by the Queen of the Fairies..."

Then she was gone, springing forward with more speed than it seemed possible for a human to possess.

"Wait!" Gwendolyn called, knowing it was already too late to call her back.

_Who was that, and what was she talking about? Was that a psypher weapon she carried?_

She felt her heart beating erratically in her chest from the odd encounter. She had spoken of the Cauldron, but had gone in the opposite direction from where Aislinn had indicated it to be. Should she follow, or continue on? Gwendolyn shook her head. It would be best to report such things to her father. The girl didn't seem to be on the Vanirs side, but even if she were she'd be swept up by the army should she try to retreat into Ringford.

Gwendolyn started to make her way quickly to her fathers side, anxious for his thoughts.

It was the first time she had ever encountered the Crystallisation Cauldron. It was not what she had thought it would be, perhaps she had been naïve to think it would actually resemble a cauldron in shape or size. The massive structure was an intricate mass of moving metal parts with complicated designs. But even Gwendolyn could tell that those moving metal parts were still, and that something was not quite right.

Next to it her father stood, his hand covering his face.

"What happened to the glow? The Cauldron's light has gone out," whispered a gnome who was amongst the gathering of Aesir surrounding the cauldron.

"It seemed to be working but a moment ago," agreed a nearby Valkyrie.

"Fools!" shouted Kind Odin, making it clear that he had heard all of these comments. He slammed a mighty fist against the Cauldron to no effect. "It has been deactivated."

The crowd hushed, unsure of what this meant. Was this a victory? The proclaimed weapon making machine was now theirs, but it was no longer working?

"Father," offered Gwendolyn quietly. "Let us at least get it back to the castle. We can think about what to do from there." She reached a hand out to console him but was brushed aside.

"I don't need you to tell me that," he hissed. "It was working but now it's been disabled, it won't matter where it is if we can't turn it back on again!"

"Perhaps it's been broken for some time now?"

"I just told you it WAS working. Until mere minutes ago it was very much alive. It's as if someone has tampered with it.

_Someone…_

Gwendolyn thought of the oddly dressed girl she'd just run into on the field.

"Fath… King Odin… I should report that I ran into someone suspicious just moments ago who may know something. She said she wouldn't allow for the Cauldron to be used by anyone. I should have restrained her but…"

"Who is it?"

"I… I don't know. A girl, wearing red with a hood. She had coiled blonde hair and a weapon that may have been a psypher."

The king sucked in his breath.

"Red hooded girl, it's most probably the witch," suggested a berserker.

"Yes, the forest witch," agreed a gnome.

Gwendolyn felt her skin itch at the word 'witch', it seemed that on either side of the army a woman might be referred to as such. When she glanced over at her father his fists were clenched tightly until his knuckles were almost white.

"Take the Cauldron back to the castle," he instructed. "I'll think about what we must do next from there.

Gwendolyn was refused the right to assist in transporting the Cauldron, for which she was secretly grateful. There was something about the huge shadowy structure that was off putting. Perhaps when it was active and lit up it might be as glorious as her father claimed, but the cold, unfeeling metal structure had an eerie feeling about it.

She could not return to the castle directly. There were things that needed to be attended to. Even if the king would not individually praise his soldiers she could not overlook such things. People had given their lives today, had drawn and lost blood, and this must be recognised. It felt like she was doing little more than going through the motions though, the thick taste of blood on her tongue had not yet abated.

She felt fake, like someone pretending to be a princess, pretending to be a soldier. To be the Gwendolyn who could return to her room where her sister would brush her hair was her keenest desire. Now all she had were the mean scraps of affection her father deigned to offer her. Crumbs so tiny her heart might starve from it.

It was late and she was weary by the time she finally made her way into the main hall. She desired rest, but even as she contemplated her chambers she could hear the raised voice of her father in the throne room and knew she'd have none until she had calmed him.

As she entered silently she saw Brigan towering over her father, who seemed to be almost cowed into submission.

"Do you understand how much we sacrificed here!? If it was all for some hunk of scrap iron, it is a disgrace to the dead!"

Gwendolyn clenched her teeth in disgust. Fine words for the man who had not made it to the battlefield today either. His tactic of only appearing late in the battle when forces were flagging, thus portraying himself as a hero who turned to tide of the fight, was sickening. It was possible that her sister might not have been amongst those dead if he had not played such games and arrived too late during their last encounter.

"I'll catch that Witch and make her spill her guts about that Cauldron," Brigan boasted. "If she plays dumb, her head will fly."

Her father seemed to sag under the weight of his words and Brigan eyed him balefully before marching out of the room like some giant thunderous beast.

"Someone, stop that fool before he leaves," Odin rasped.

He clutched his face again as if his head was in pain, shaking it back and forth as if to free himself from something.

"No, he cannot be serious about opposing me. I shall find the Witch."

Moving his hand he glanced down at Gwendolyn who was waiting silently by his side, as if expecting to find her there. "Gwendolyn, I shall leave the rest to you."

Gwendolyn felt dizzy at the weight of what he was trying to place on her.

_He expects me to rule in his absence? He plans to leave the castle straight after this victory while the future is still unclear for the kingdom? He cannot! _

"Father, please wait..." she begged. "A king cannot idly abandon his own castle. If I… If I had not let the witch go, this would not have happened."

Her father was shaking his head but she persisted. If this was a matter of honour he could not deny her.

"Allow me to redeem myself. I shall capture the Witch."

Her father let out a long sigh and then seemed to resign himself to the matter.

"Then by your leave I will begin my journey tomorrow and not return until I can bring her to you."

It had not been her plan to take on such a thing, but it was far better than being idle. She could not let her father leave his kingdom when stability needed to be foremost. The thought of stepping into that position terrified her, she who had done as was required today but found no joy in it. How was she ever to lead a country?

As she turned to leave the throne room her father stopped her.

"Gwendolyn, wait..."

She paused, turning towards him. "Yes, Father?"

"Heed my words. Do not cause undue harm to the Witch. She's... Well, she's... She is special. Be respectful."

Gwendolyn was at a loss for words. Special? What did that mean?

"As you wish, Your Majesty..."

As Gwendolyn started the trek up the spiral staircase to her room she realised once again that she could have simply flown up onto the balcony. It was almost becoming a habit to walk the distance rather than using her wings, as if she were limiting herself by disallowing the ability. That was how she felt too, like she was disabled somehow, just like the Cauldron.

She had not seen Myris today but her presence was obvious throughout the room. Since she had not known when Gwendolyn would return she had left out food that did not need to be eaten hot. A selection of cheese, fruit, pastries and honeyed milk were waiting on a tray by her bedside.

Gwendolyn found that she was ravenous and made short work of it as she stripped off her armour and found herself a fresh nightgown. As she brushed out her own hair she spared a tear for her sister, it was difficult to comb out all the tangles without assistance. It seemed like she hadn't fully appreciated the effort involved in a seemingly simple task. If only she had said thank you more often. She made up her mind to thank Myris more often for the gentle care and consideration she was given.

As she lay down to sleep she thought of the task before her. Find the forest witch.

If this girl had deactivated the Cauldron how had such a thing been accomplished? Was she definitely the culprit? It certainly seemed to be the most likely possibility considering the circumstances of their meeting. Were there even any other suspects?

She thought she felt the bird of heart before her, its wing's touching her face with their ghostly whispering.

_What about the Shadow Knight?_

What indeed? He had been sighted at the start of the battle, certainly, but then all reports of him had dropped off. Had he been killed?

No. that wasn't possible. If such a feat had been accomplished by anyone they would have been heralded as a hero. Had he had the introspection to see the need for retreat himself during this battle? What a mockery of their reversed positions that might have been. In any case it seemed unlikely that he was involved in the deactivation of the Cauldron.

Her last thoughts before sleep were of that shadowy figure retreating deep into Ringford and never showing his face again. Her mouth was a line of dissatisfaction as she slept.

She rose as the birds do the next morning; while the hour is still grey but the first spears of light were piercing the sky. There was nothing unusual about donning her armour even though the main battle was over. An unusual day was one where no armour was worn. The metal plate was like a part of her now, and she felt too light and exposed without it.

Myris came in with breakfast, warm toast with red onion jam, poached eggs and freshly squeezed napple juice. Gwendolyn gave her a kiss on the cheek and thanked her warmly, which flustered the small maid immensely and turned even her ears red with embarrassment.

When Gwendolyn set out it was in the direction of Ringford. The same direction the witch herself had gone in. She didn't really think the girl was with the fairies, but there were many great forests surrounding Ringwood where someone might hide themselves. She passed her own people on the way, moving deeper and deeper into the brush. She knew that anyone being pursued would not stand to be so close to the Aesir checkpoints. She wondered about Brigan, was he also making this journey or had her father managed to discourage him? She thought of him again when she found herself wading knee deep in the fetid waters of an unexpected swamp. Surely being as tall as he would make this much easier work?

Eventually the waters became clearer and the surrounding area opened into a large clearing of a forest lagoon. The sound of frogs was everywhere and oversized lily pads lined the water's surface like a firm carpet. Experimentally, Gwendolyn tried to stand atop one, only to find the illusion of a carpet was just that, an illusion.

However as she paused to examine them further something else became apparent to her. She had listened to the slosh of her own legs against the water for so long that the sound had become familiar, but now she could hear it despite the fact that she was still.

Keeping low she crept forward slowly; making her steadily around a bend which was masked by a row of trees. Beyond it she saw the forest witch, almost as if she had been waiting here to be found all along. Gwendolyn did not pause to consider the situation further, she simply ran forward with her weapon raised in pursuit of her.

The girl turned in surprise, her hood falling away so that the full glory of her blonde hair was reflected by the sunlight.

"I will not let you escape this time!" Gwendolyn declared,

"You'll never get your wish, Valkyrie. Confront me all you want, but you cannot change my resolve. Go back and inform the Demon Lord. I will not listen to your pleas."

"You've told me all I needed to know," smiled Gwendolyn. "You are the responsible party in deactivating the Cauldron. I am the one who will not listen to your pleas. You have no choice in the matter." She raised her spear high. "If you insist that you will not repair the Cauldron..."

"That evil spear and my chain are both Psyphers. If we battle, it will be a serious affair."

"So be it. "You're hesitating... Bluffing will only get you so far. If you value your life, obey the King."

"You ignorant fool." The witch snorted. " You cut short your own life by meddling in my affairs. Using the Crystallization Cauldron will doom the entire world. That accursed Cauldron served as a trigger... to the horror that befell my native country of Valentine. It is the cataclysm's womb... And it should not exist."

Gwendolyn paused. She had heard such storied since her birth. The Raging Battlefield was said to have once been the site of the great city of Valentine. Now reduced to nothing but ruins and rumours. None of this changed their situation, however.

"The great magical country of Valentine is said to have been destroyed overnight. I am aware of the story that you describe," she agreed. "The Valentine Prophecies say the world will be destroyed by five disasters. One of those five involves a furnace that spews despair. You say that line refers to the Crystallization Cauldron?" Gwendolyn laughed. "'Tis but a rumor from a ruined land."

"War will spread across the world... The winning country will rule over the entire land. Your country's ambition is merely a convenient lie for the Demon Lord."

How dare you," she growled. "Do you imply that my King is deceiving everyone? I will not hear this mockery. Stop this nonsense. I shall take your life, if I must..."

Gwendolyn eyed the strange Psypher chain that the witch wielded, ready for unexpected attack. It was an unusual weapon and not one she was accustomed to fighting against. However, even before she had a chance to land a blow the fight was halted.

"Wait! Both of you, cease fighting!" cried King Odin.

Gwendolyn was rigid with shock over his appearance. He had left the kingdom despite all she had done?

"Father! Why are you here?"

"I had a premonition of something like this, so I came here."

The forest witch did not lower her weapon at his appearance. "Odin..." she spat.

"I cannot allow you hurt one another. Gwendolyn, step away. Do not interrupt what I have to say."

Gwendolyn frowned. Did he not trust her to complete this simple task? What sort of an uproar was occurring within the kingdom now that the ruling monarch and his only kin were now both absent?

"Velvet... You look so much like your mother."

The forest witch, Velvet, continued to glare at the king. Gwendolyn couldn't help but notice how her father's voice had softened to speak the words.

"My dear daughter... Why are you acting against me?"

"...Daughter!?" Gwendolyn cried.

_What is this? How can this be? He is not speaking to me, he is clearly speaking to Velvet, the forest witch. She is his daughter?_

"Do not call me your daughter. Do you think I am a fool? While the nations of Velvet and Ragnanival were at war, you disguised yourself and seduced my mother, the princess, with sweet words. And you were quick to flee when she became pregnant. Because my mother gave birth to an enemy's child, she was executed for loving you. It is the same as if you had killed her yourself."

Odin sighed heavily. "That is not true, my child. We did not know each other's real names, nor our ranks. I did not run away from her. We were torn apart. I truly loved the princess."

"Father..." croaked Gwendolyn.

_Then what about mother, my mother?_

"Lies! If you loved my mother, who is this other daughter here?"

Gwendolyn took a deep shuddering breath.

_Who am I? What am I doing here? This person is my… sister?_

"I do not think of you as my father," Velvet continued, "and I have no desire to help you."

All of them had been so lost within the conversation that none of them had noticed the loud approach of a trespasser before it was too late. Gwendolyn had been right in her estimation, Brigan made short work of the deep water, he made it look easy.

"Well, well... I followed the King and stumbled into a royal spat," he bellowed. "Fraternising with the enemy... Would could've guessed...?"

Odin paled. "Lord Brigan..."

"Although their demise was sudden, Valentine was still our enemy. And while the battle raged, the King had an affair with their princess and even had a child. Deary me... The subjects would be most upset." Brigan smirked. "But as I am a loyal servant of my King, I will carry this secret to my grave."

His cruel smile widened as he reached out a giant fist and took hold of Velvet.

"But that Cauldron is another story." He yanked Velvet's arm painfully. "Now come, winsome little witch. You will help us gain its might."

Gwendolyn started at this new half-sister who had now become a prisoner. She had absolutely no idea how she should feel about any of it.


	7. To the Depths of Despair

_If I kill this girl Melvin's plan will be complete._

Oswald stared at the young queen, Mercedes, as she fluttered her wings angrily, heavily in conversation with his foster father.

_No… I had better wait for Melvin's command._

Decided, he leaned heavily against the cool pillar in the palace reception room. He felt dizzy. Despite what might have seemed a somewhat languid pose for someone who was usually upright, and rigidly so, he was not relaxed. His head was not in a right state, the colours of the palace spun behind his eyes and his stomach roiled. Ever since he had expended so much energy to bring the Belderiver back under his control he had suffered waves of nausea and pain. Or perhaps it should've been ever since he had encountered the Halja? Could it be that a brush with death had brought him closer to its precipice? It mattered not. All he needed to do was follow Melvin's command.

A dragon winged halberdier approached, seemingly unaware of Oswald who was hidden in the shadow of the pillar. He fidgeted impatiently as he waited, watching Melvin and Mercedes from a polite distance as he waited for them to finish their conversation. Unaware that he himself was being studied.

"Who are you here for?"

The young dragon wing jumped visibly at Oswald's question. Stammering as he stalled at deciding a response when he saw who had framed the question. It was clear he did not want to report to the Shadow Knight, but was too afraid to deny him an answer.

"I must report at once!" he squeaked.

"What has happened?"

"The Paladins have been attacked. There is an armed revolt!"

_Of course there is. We armed it._

This was not news to Oswald. Not only had the Paladins been attacked, but they had retreated into the forest and hidden themselves like cowards. And he had watched them do it.

"You don't need to report that. Melvin is already handling matters," Oswald drawled.

"But… What of queen Mercedes?"

"Of course she is also aware."

A heavy silence stretched between the two, loaded with the halberdiers obvious discontent.

"But shouldn't I at least-"

"You," said Oswald pointedly, "may go. Unless of course there's something else?"

"There… there isn't," he swallowed. "I'll be on my way then."

Oswald watched as he skittered off down the corridor like a giant spider. "Beware the darkness," he muttered to his retreating form. He wondered of the statement was less of a warning for the escaping messenger, however, and more of one for himself. As he clenched the hand closest to the Belderiver he found that it was damp with sweat.

Shaking himself from further introspection, he looked up again to see that Melvin now stood before a group a monarch winged archers. Mercedes was nowhere to be seen; clearly her tantrum had run its course. It was a wonder that she still had not surmised that the current unrest in the court was not just because of the unexpected death of her mother and her own early coronation. Melvin had worked hard to build his allies and fan the flames of discontent without her knowledge. Still, surely the young queen should have been aware that things had progressed too quickly for there to be no perpetrator. Her cluelessness only gave rise to the necessity of their cause. Melvin would be king, he was the most suited to lead.

Awkwardly, Oswald approached the ring of fairies gathered around Melvin. He needed to be active, all this waiting was giving him too much time to worry about their plans… and whether or not he'd be fit to fulfil them in his current state. Melvin's caught his eye meaningfully as he commanded the young archers before him.

"Send that letter to the lords; a just cause will be needed to fight the rebels."

_Rebels._

How easily Melvin claimed their position as the righteous one. It was as there could be no argument, that anyone rising against him was clearly an interloper. Though Mercedes still drew breath and he was not yet a king, his demeanour and manner of speech were those of a leader. He was clearly the superior candidate to rule, and anyone still clinging to the right of succession was an enemy to their own country.

As Oswald entered the ring of fairies they scattered, partly in distaste and partly due to their new orders. He was left alone with Melvin, but felt his mouth tighten over their rude dismissal. Still, it wasn't like it was unusual, it was more unusual that it bothered him, in fact. Even now when they were all reengages for the same cause, he was still an outsider.

Melvin smiled welcomingly. "Oswald, explain the situation."

"As you command. The Paladins who were in opposition have hidden themselves in secrecy." He paused as his foster father nodded, clearly he had expected this outcome. "There is now nobody left who publicly opposes you."

Melvin smiled. "Good work." He covered his mouth with his fingers as if to mask his pleasure. "Those stubborn lords still cling to sentimental ideas of Elfaria's daughter ruling. But some have expressed approval in the thought of me being in charge of affairs."

Oswald stood quietly. It was more than some. Melvin had offered opportunities even to the dwarves so that they might rekindle their forges and escape from the fairies yoke if the uprising was successful. He certainly had the majority of the citizens in his hand.

"I am in charge of a good third of our troops, but I am running out of time..."

Melvin's musings were interrupted as a Lillipat hurried across the polished palace floors, almost slipping in his haste. Foster father and son watched him expectantly as he huffed and puffed, bent over from exertion and unable to form complete sentences.

"Lord Melvin... You have acted recklessly," he finally wheezed.

Melvin laughed, throwing back his head and heartily enjoying the moment. "Are they finally amassing the dregs of an army, unaware that it is their own country men with whom they do battle? I have been looking forward to their confusion. Tell them we will face their so-called _revolution_."

He grabbed the recovering Lillipat by the collar and pulled him up from his sunken pose. "This will be nothing," he smiled. "We will break their resolve. If we can stifle the girl and her forces in the castle then the masses will follow us."

The Lillipat struggled weakly in Melvin's grip and then went limp. "Respectfully..." he croaked. "A sorcerer and a dragon have been sworn to protect the queen."

"A queen, she? Hardly. Just a scrap of a thing playing at ruling a country. It is in my dear nieces favour that I take this heavy burden from her. She is still unaware that I am working against her, flying in circles lost without her mother's apron to cling to. Better that she returns to hunting frogs in the swamp and playing hide and seek with her personal guards. This responsibility is too much for a child." He eased his grip on the young fairies neckline and the Lillipat slid down from his grip with a choked cough. "There is the sorcerer, though," he considered. "Beldor, huh...? I wonder what his motive is... He's a tricky one." Pausing to dust his sculpted hands on his frock coat he glanced over at Oswald. "Fear not. I shall present a champion that can defeat any dragon."

"Lord Melvin," cried the deflated fairy. "Does such a warrior even exist in this world of ours?"

Melvin frowned and snorted in his nose. "Mock me not, coward. My man is right here." He gestured to Oswald.

Oswald stepped up proudly. The other fairies might ignore him, despite knowing his prowess in battle, but his father trusted him enough to lay these defining tasks at his feet. Weakened though he might be, he would succeed, all for the sake of not letting this great man down. Melvin would be king, and Oswald would serve at his side.

His foster father stepped over the wilted Lillipat to grip Oswald's shoulder. "Now go, Oswald. Your Belderiver will bring us to victory."

Oswald bowed as well as he could in his increasingly heavy armour. It would not do to make his father wait, and so he turned to leave immediately. It suited him well since he had a desire to be occupied. Still, there was a dark feeling within him over the thought of battling another dragon. He could still remember the words of the great dragon Hindel as he had lay dying.

_Seek the bird._

He paused as a he was suddenly gripped by a wave of pain, his limbs cramping with a burning edge which almost made him drop the Belderiver.

"Ugh... It's getting worse..." He looked around to ensure that no one had seen the display as he staggered into the shadowed portion of the courtyard, just outside of the entranceway. "Ever since I saw the Halja, my body is stiff. But I must do what Melvin asks of me." With a shaking arm he steadied his hand, slowly opening and closing his fingers over the hilt of the Belderiver. "I can still do this..."

A strange need to look upon the feather tucked into the breast of his armour overtook him, but he denied it. It was only because of his failure and his need for revenge that he kept such a trinket. There was no deeper meaning. Definitely not.

As he walked past the bruised remains of the moon lilies which had been trampled by the Aesir's advancement into Ringford, he found his resolve.

Definitely not.

A journey to the forest of Elrit would usually take him only a matter of hours. Oswald was not sure if it was due to his own poor condition or due to some work of the sorcerer Beldor that he found himself slowed down and, more often than not, completely lost. It took him until well past sunset before he finally came across the little grove where he knew he'd find the sorcerer.

"Beldor!" He called, his voice sonorous in the peculiar quiet of the clearing. "I must speak with you." He looked towards the rocky face of the cave that must be Beldor's home expectantly, waiting for the man to emerge. Without warning there was a hiss of air to Oswald's left and, in a puff of smoke, Beldor appeared from nowhere. Leaving Oswald to wonder if he'd travelled all this way for nothing and could have simply called his name from any location to summon him.

"Beldor, " he said, trying to hide his surprise, "I serve Lord Melvin, nephew of the late Queen."

The old man gave him a bemused smile. "Oswald, the dragon slayer... What brings you here?"

"Beldor, the greatest sorcerer in the Fairy Kingdom, let me ask: are you loyal to a country or to a single individual?"

The sorcerer rolled his eyes and swung one of his robe draped arms with a flourish. "Hmph, so that's why you are here. Melvin must have decided. This will be entertaining." The old man smirked at Oswald and shook his head as he turned away, back towards the cave. "But alas, I am an outsider. It troubles me that I am relied on here. Until the course of events calms down apace, I shall observe from afar."

"Coward!" accused Oswald. He raised the Belderiver to point it at the sorcerer's back, sure that he must know of his own danger if he truly were as powerful as rumoured. "Can you just stand by and let this nation sink into civil war!?"

Beldor grinned back over his shoulder and waved his hands towards the cave in front of him. "I hope you don't plan on threatening me with that sword Shadow Knight... You'll upset my pet. Belial, come."

As if commanded the cave walls before Beldor trembled, and soon Oswald could see that it was not a cave at all, but the scales and tough hide of the dragon that Beldor had made his servant. The dragon was different to Hindel, larger, it's flesh harder to pierce and it's jaw infinitely wider and full of razor sharp teeth. It slammed down a taloned foot as if in challenge.

Oswald stared the dragon down venomously, irritated at the old man who had now slunk behind it to shield himself. "Let me help you make your decision a bit easier," he growled, "who do you think will be more advantageous to side with?" Lightning fast he swung the Belderiver, feeling the hum of dark energy pulse through his entire arm and light him up with black vigor as he embraced the shadow again. He felt the blow land hard across Belial's flank and smiled.

"Bastard!" Beldor spat as he backed away from the burning shadow that was Oswald.

Oswald set his shadow self free upon Belial's scaly hide. He no longer felt exhausted and ill, instead a cold creeping feeling had come across him. Emptiness. It was as if he were being stripped away piece by piece. Each successful blow filled him with a sense of accomplishment but, at the same time, regret, as nothingness ate at his very soul while he fought. Finally, the dragon fell, and it was all that he could do to pull himself back from the brink of that empty expanse, yawning to engulf him.

As he shook off the inner darkness he was consumed instead in the blackness of nightfall. The sun had long since died on the horizon, and it was in that pitch gloom that he watched the dragon heave to draw breath. The sorcerer was nowhere to be seen.

"Beldor!" he yelled. "I have bested your pet, stand and face me. The day is mine."

He half thought the sorcerer to appear again unexpectedly, but this time the wizened old man crept out of the leafy foliage before him with a scowl on his face.

"You have bested my dragon, yes, but this day is not yet yours, Oswald. In fact if anything you've lost the day," mused the old man. "I will do as you ask, I will comply with any orders that Melvin sees fit to give, should he be fit to give me any."

Oswald frowned. Was it some curse that dragons and their keepers must all speak in riddles? "What foolishness is this? Will you fight for us or not?"

"That remains to be seen."

"Then I shall take you with me to ensure our contract," Oswald threatened.

"Do as you like, but it will only slow you further. Your Belderiver is not at full power, you've been weakened, haven't you? Do you think I can't tell? And just what do you think it has cost you, only a day? Oswald you've been fighting my dragon for three days straight now. How goes the revolution in your absence, without your strength, do you know? Do you truly believe the little queen is such a fool that she can't see past your scheming?"

"No," said Oswald. "That's not possible. How could so much time have passed without my knowing it?"

"Those close to death often don't feel time's touch as they linger on the precipice. Wrapped in a shadow of death you become less and less human by the day. Soon you'll be nothing but a soulless revenant like so many of the Queen of the Netherworld's clients."

"What of the uprising then, you spoke ominously. What do you know?" Oswald twisted the Belderiver in his hand and stepped towards the sorcerer. "Use your magic, return me to Ringford now so that I might report my success here."

"Ahhh, I've agreed only to follow Melvin's orders, not yours. Poor Shadow Knight, you best hurry or they'll be nothing left of the pitiful revolution he started. Even though he traded you for such power you've still failed him in the end"

With that Beldor disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving Oswald staring at the space that he no longer occupied, his heart hammering in his chest. He delayed only a few seconds longer before he turned in the direction of the Ringford Palace and started to run as fast as his feet would take him. As he replayed the sorcerer's words he felt himself flinch, so similar to those spoken by Brom, by the Halja, but his foster father was not some monster who would trade his life for power so easily.

Oswald was exhausted. If it was true that he'd been fighting for three days straight then it was of little wonder, but he hoped that it was a lie. He daren't embrace the shadow again so soon, not even in such dire need, not if he wanted to make it to Ringford alive. He listened to the dull clank of his armour as he ran and the wheeze in his chest as he tried to draw breath. He was sweating heavily, overcome by dizziness but unable to stop moving towards his goal.

It seemed to take forever to return to the palace, and as he stood on the outskirts of the gardens the evidence of battle was obvious. He had been gone too long, a serious clash had taken place during his absence.

A stitch in one side, he limped into the shadows of the palace walls. Moving in the darkness he listened to the whispered chatter of a small party who had concealed themselves beneath an outcropping which seemed to have been blasted in the stone wall.

"The troops are in shambles... What should we do?"

"They have reinforcements. The palace has already been surrounded."

"I suppose random assaults proved to be an effective strategy in this situation."

Oswald strained his ears, which party was this? The invaders or those originally holding the palace?

One of the fairies sniffled. "Our revolution ended in failure. Where has Lord Melvin gone?"

_No, it's not possible._

"Let us escape."

"To whence!? We have nowhere to run."

But Oswald could hear nothing more beyond the ringing in his ears. The revolution… failed? What of Melvin, what of their army? Had they misjudged Mercedes ability so severely? His vision faded as he stumbled forward, unable to even ensure that he was concealed anymore. He must find Melvin, perhaps this could still be saved. Surely his foster father must have need of him.

It was tough going any further in his state, walls danced away as he staggered onwards towards the centre of the castle. He could sometimes hear the dull clash of fighting from afar, or perhaps it was closer than it seemed? But he did not cross paths with either invader or renegade as he progressed.

Finally, as he entered the area outside of the main court he could see a figure sprawled against the marble pillar, luminous skin beckoning and perhaps a glint of gold about their head. They seemed to be wracked with pain, but spoke so quietly that it was all Oswald could do to catch their words.

"How could that lass have proved better than me...?"

Oswald fell to his knee at the sound, surely his fathers voice. He forced himself up and inched forward. "Melvin... is that you?" he croaked. "My eyes are clouding... I cannot see."

As he waited for confirmation, however, it seemed that the figure before him was gripped in the motion of silent, self-depreciating, laughter.

"Blind, are you? Then it seems your time is almost up. You worthless fool, breaking down like this." As he spoke there could be no doubt it was Melvin. "I should have prepared a replacement to take the Belderiver away from you. Such a waste."

Oswald wondered if there was something wrong with his ears, the strange ringing sound was back. He felt like he'd just been disembowelled, like something integral to his person had just been removed and nothing could fill the hole it had come from.

"A replacement...?" Oswald shuddered involuntarily. "Melvin... Did you really... Did you really trade my life for the

Belderiver?"

This time Melvin's chuckle was not soundless.

"No," denied Oswald, his own voice sounding strange and foreign in his head. "'Tis a lie. What exactly am I to you!?"

Hot bile rose in Oswald's mouth as the man who had raised him, his foster father, continued to laugh, wracked both by the crippling pain of being near death and the insidious humour this situation seemed to bring him.

"Answer me, Melvin!"

"You?" gasped Melvin. "Why, you are simply an object. Just a tool... for me to become King."

Oswald felt the emptiness creeping upon him again, and he had not even reached for the Belderiver. "N-No..." He retched once, his whole body spasming over the denial of everything he had ever known. There was nothing to vomit, he was completely empty, he had absolutely nothing left. He simply stared at the floor before him, his hands propping him up as he felt another wave of gut wrenching pain take him.

He could hear people entering the room, shouting. "There he is! Over here! You cannot escape, Melvin the traitor."

_Melvin._

"Agh... It seems my life is nearing its end," said the man who had given Oswald a purpose for living and taken it away just as easily. He raised his arms weakly as if surrendering, but then glanced upwards towards the sky. "O Great Earth... My body returns to you. O Great Heavens. My soul ascends. I called myself Melvin... My true name is... Nidhogg. The one that chews on the roots of the ash tree... I will always resist fate..."

With his final tribute the fairy that had been Melvin scattered into hundreds of phozons which sparkled in the room as they escaped. Some twisting upwards into the sky, others delving to nourish the earth below as the guards shouted in outrage.

Oswald simply continued to stare at the hands planted before him, sickened and despairing. "I... What meaning has my life ever had...!?" One of the stray phozons drifted close to him an he flinched away from it. Knowing he'd be unable to bear its touch.

"Shadow Knight!" Declared one of the other voices in the room, spying him at last. "Halt, holder of the Belderiver! Don't move!"

But Oswald could feel the cold presence before him before it even appeared, hear the sudden hush of the guards which had been sneaking up behind him. He had summoned it with his own darkness, with the death of self, he was now no more than a living husk. He raised his face, his eyes wet and dull, to look upon the abomination of the Halja before him.

"What is that!?" Shrieked a guard.

"Aah! It's the Halja...!"

Oswald stared into the face of his future even as he could hear the skittering footsteps on the men behind him fleeing it. He felt no need to do any such thing, his life was nothing now, there was no point in going on.

"Pitiful slayer... The life I chased was merely an illusion," echoed to Halja tonelessly. "Your despair brings me joy. Your body rots while living, yet your true destiny does not awaken until you die."

Oswald nodded wordlessly, any remaining hope crushed entirely.

"Now, let me take you into the cold embrace of Death..."

And Oswald closed his eyes as the Halja raised his scythe, resigned.


End file.
